Oblivion
by newsgirl83
Summary: It's been 4 years since she last saw his blue eyes, or so they say. 4 years since the coma-inducing tragedy that took her parents but let her live. Elena wakes up at 23, with no memory of the years leading up to her accident or the gorgeous man sitting beside her with a ring on his finger. Desperate for answers, Elena embarks on a not so typical amnesia-love story. 1st Person POV.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I'm back again, this time with my very first shot at first person POV. I'm looking at switching between Damon and Elena POV as the chapters progress. I thank you all in advance for reading. This isn't an unheard of concept for a story, however it's also not what it may seem. There's a lot to unravel, and I plan to do so, much in a way I have with my stories in the past. This is a new challenge for me, and I very much look forward to it. **

**The story title is a song by Bastille. It was featured on The Vampire Diaries in season 4. **

**Thank you again for reading! **

* * *

**Oblivion**

**Prologue**

I hold my breath and count to ten as the wheels of our airplane touch down on the runway. I'm not afraid of flying, or landing for that matter. In fact, I'd almost rather still be in the air, where my future was still...in the _future_. I've been traveling for nearly 7 hours, including 2 layovers. I should be cartwheeling down aisle, doing jumping jacks that I've finally reached my destination. But I'm not.

Susan, the woman next to me on the aisle side of our row, shifts and unbuckles her belt, reaching for her purse beneath the seat in front of her. She's been a pleasant travel companion, all the way from Cody, Wyoming to here, Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I've heard all about her 4 grandchildren and her plans to retire next year, and I've welcomed the easy conversation. It's kept my mind off my own life and the man sitting to my right.

His dark hair is sticking up on the right side, where he's been mashed against the wall for the last few hours, somehow lulled to sleep by the rock music blaring from his earbuds. He's awake now, staring out the small, finger-print smeared window.

"Thank God we're here," Susan says, reaching for my hand on the cold armrest. "I'm sure you two are, too." Her eyes dart to him, then back to me and she winks. "Before he died, my husband and I were always happy to sleep in our own bed after a long trip..." Her voice is full of love and longing, and I wish I knew what it felt like to miss someone that way. "Hang onto that one, dear. He's a looker."

The blood rushes to my cheeks, but I don't know why. It isn't like he can hear her over his music, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter. My smile widens and I hope she attributes my blush to affection and not the discomfort twisting my insides.

I manage a smile. Jesus, if she only knew the half of it.

She's right. He's easy to look at. It's not like I haven't noticed. He's got long, dark eyelashes even a woman would envy, and black stubble along his cheeks. He's focused on something out the window, and I can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I catch the reflection of his blue eyes in the window and quickly look away before he turns. This isn't the first time he's caught me staring at him. I can't help it. I'm hoping one of these times it'll trigger something.

He pulls the string of his earbuds with one gentle tug until they fall easily in his lap and slides his hand over my right one naturally, as if he's done it thousands of times before...and I'm guessing he has. I swallow and tip my head in his direction and his lips curve up into a lopsided smile. At least one of us seems comfortable.

Maybe it's because he's had a hell of a lot longer to figure out what to say.

"All set, Elena?" His voice is rich and deep, the timbre protective. There's genuine tenderness in his eyes, and I'm not certain what to do with it. My mouth suddenly feels like I've been sucking on a wad of cotton the entire flight. He may be calm, but I'm terrified.

It's not just him that makes me nervous; it's the whole damn situation. My name feels foreign on my lips, like it doesn't really belong to me. I didn't expect to wake up one morning and learn I'd slept through the last four years of my life. My early-twenties are practically gone, and I missed every moment of it.

The worst part is knowing the world kept right on going while I was away. He tells me it's _only_ four years, and I know he's trying to comfort me, but it just isn't working. I can't get those four years back. They're just gone.

There are days I wish I'd tried to do this on my own. Having an almost-stranger tell me I survived when no one else did was bad enough. I don't remember my last night awake or the few years leading up to it, but I must've been able to make reckless decisions. No memories needed; the shiny diamond on my ring finger is proof enough.

"Stay by me in the airport. It's crowded and we'll have to pick up our luggage from baggage claim," he's speaking to me like I'm a child and I can't stand it anymore. I cringe and look away, but nod slowly so he doesn't say it again. I'm not naïve enough to miss how hard this must be on him, too. He didn't vow to sleep alone every night for four years while I lie in a hospital bed.

I hate not being able to do things by myself. For myself. I hate being told what to do; I guess that much hasn't changed. Memories before age 17 are as clear as the Midwest morning sky. Coach purses and Jimmie Choo's. Forced smiles and dinner parties. I spent my entire childhood trying to please my parents, afraid if I did anything wrong they'd stop talking to me altogether. We weren't close; often I felt like they had me just to keep up with everyone else in their social circle. But every now and then when I was small, my father would settle me into his lap and read me a story. It's _that _version I want to remember...not the rest of it. Not the loneliness.

I'm an only child, and the friends I made in boarding school were nothing like me. Their smiles were as plastic as a toothpaste ad, and I longed for something genuine. Someone who saw life differently than me...who didn't worry about small things that wouldn't matter in a day. Someone who could make me see things that way, too.

I needed someone to ground me...to bring me back to earth, because honestly, I could feel myself starting to float out of my shoes and I hated it. I remember not really knowing myself. I'd look in the mirror and see the scowl my mother often wore, or catch myself using my fathers disinterested tone, and as the years went on, it was harder to distance myself from their world. Truth be told, I loved them. What child doesn't love a parent or bend over backwards just to have them pay an ounce of attention to them instead of their work or their ladies' association?

So I forced myself to roll with the punches for my first 17 years. I was so afraid I'd have no one, like they always threatened would happen if anything ever happened to them. And I was right to fear the unknown, because this is the most disconnected I've ever been.

I feel nothing, just blank. My head is full of whys and what ifs and this beautiful man is sitting next to me, promising me he'll help me find the answers.

* * *

**Three weeks ago...**

I wake up in a hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and faces I don't recognize. The doctors ask me too many questions I don't know the answers to, and I want nothing more than to close my eyes and go back to sleep. To me, it feels like I've just been dreaming...and like any typical dream, time passes immeasurably. I had no way of knowing how long it had been since my eyes had last opened. And then I see a man with big blue eyes, staring at me like I'm a ghost. After a moment, his mouth parts like he has something really important to say, but he closes it quickly and tucks his hands into the front pockets in his jeans, settling for a generic _Hi, Elena_, instead.

Two words are enough; a surge of hope fills me when his smooth voice floats into my ears. It's warm and familiar in a way nothing else is right now, and I close my eyes so he can't see my tears doctors say I've been in a coma but they don't tell me what caused it right away. It's only been a few hours and I'm already to lost in my own head.

That afternoon, the medical staff leaves me alone with Damon for the first time since I've woken up. I don't know what to do or say, just that he's someone from life who's going to tell me about...me. His warm fingers push my dark wavy hair behind an ear and he looks at me in complete disbelief. Like I'm not real. Like he's afraid he's the one who's been stuck in a dream for too long. He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek just once, and I feel the cold metal of his wedding band against my skin. Instinctively, my eyes flick down to my ring finger and notice it's bare.

"So...you're really awake," he says. I think he must be reassuring himself. I wonder where my parents are and why this stranger is the one telling me all this.

After another few moments of silence, he pulls his hand away and settles it with the other one in his lap as he seems to struggle for the right words. It almost seems like he's in pain. I don't know why because I don't know who he is, and I'm afraid to admit it. Especially since he's looking at me almost affectionately.

I frown, caught up in the fact that I should probably let him know somehow, because unlike me, he knows exactly what's going on. I'm having trouble maintaining eye contact, so I glance down at my blankets to keep myself together.

Carefully, he begins to explain.

"There was an accident, Lena," he nearly whispers. I don't remember anyone ever calling me that, but I like the nickname...it helps me feel more like a real person. Like I really _did _exist before now. "Your house caught on fire..."

And though it's hard to feel much of anything right now, I do feel panic. Because I don't remember a fire, I don't remember the night that nearly took away my life. I don't remember a thing past getting my driver's license. The funny part...or _not so funny_ part, is that it feels like just yesterday I was getting ready for a silly high school dance.

He says it's a miracle I survived the smoke inhalation, let alone the flames. My entire childhood home burned to the ground with my parents inside, leaving me with an inheritance, a trust fund and an insurmountable feeling of guilt knowing I'll never have the chance to make amends with them. The last memory I have is of wanting to rebel...to really piss them off. I wonder if I did, but he doesn't go into any of that right now.

I stay silent while he explains, refusing to believe any of it. He hasn't stopped to tell me where he fits into the picture. He's probably hoping the only part of my life I don't remember is that night. After he's finished, he squeezed my hand once and stands, insisting he needs a cup of coffee and that he'll be right back. While he's gone, I will myself to remember. Anything. Everything. Even one little detail. I strain so hard my head begins to ache, and by the time he's back with a styrofoam cup of hospital coffee, I'm angry with myself.

I think he can tell, because he settles back into the chair beside me and offers me a comforting smile. And I _am_ comforted, but I don't know why. Is it because he's here? Because I'm not alone? Because he's my only connection to the life I used to know...even if I don't remember it?

"I'm sorry I keep staring at you. It's just really good to see you. You've been asleep for awhile," he says finally, a gentle smile forming on his lips. His thumb rubs over my left cheekbone. "I missed those pretty eyes." He takes a breath, as if waiting for me to say I missed him, too, but it never comes. Instead, he smiles with understanding.

"I'm sorry," I manage. I'm not sure if I'm apologizing because I've been gone so long, or because I don't remember him. My voice sounds different than I remember, and I frown.

"You're not sure who I am, are you?"

I shake my head, ashamed. I don't know how to act around him, or if the way I'm behaving right now is how I would've before. I find myself over thinking everything, as if I'm going to make a mistake and he'll notice and tell me I'm wrong. But he doesn't. He sits there patiently.

As his words sink in, I begin to wonder just how long I've been asleep. My eyes scan over his features, catching on his stubble. He's older than me. I think. How long have I been out? What exactly did I miss? "What year is it...? How old am I?"

He eyes me carefully, then reaches for my hand. I pull away, worried by the look he's giving me. "You're twenty-three."

"What?" My heart stops. I scoot up in the bed, searching for the mirror against the wall behind him, but I can't get a good enough look. "I can't be." I touch my cheeks, as if that would be any indication that I've aged. "I would know. I would feel it. I..."

"You were asleep for four years...19 when the accident happened."

Then why don't I remember the last two I was awake for before the accident? In my head, I'm still 17. I'm still a kid, for God's sake. But I'm not, and it's clear to me I have no idea who I am. Tears prick my eyes again, but this time I let one slide down my cheek, swiping it away with a hand before crashing fists down onto my hospital bed.

I know I must seem crazy right now. One minute I'm high the next I'm low. I'm a whole lot of nothing right now, other than completely confused. It hits me like a truck and suddenly I snap. I'm not angry with him...just everything else. I'm angry at myself for not being able to wake up for four years. For not being able to save my parents. For not getting the chance to tell them I love them before they went.

He lets the information stew for awhile.

"And who the hell are you to tell me all this?" I finally ask, harshly. I'm frustrated and overwhelmed and would give just about anything to go back to sleep. While his voice is soothing, I liked it a lot more when I didn't have to deal with this new reality. My blank life. I'm missing so many pieces of the puzzle; it's not even fair.

He scrubs his face with his hands for a moment and take a breath, bracing himself before he says it. Immediately, I know something's wrong. I can tell by the flicker in his beautiful blue eyes. He's someone I'm supposed to remember, someone I need to know, and my stomach churns as I wait for him to deliver.

"I'm your husband," the words fall from his lips in a sigh and I'm pretty sure I stop breathing. I stare at him blankly, as if I maybe misheard him. Talk about being blindsided. How much big information can a person take in just a few short hours? "I'm Damon."

I know his name because I've heard the doctors say it. I just didn't realize my last name was Salvatore, too. I blink at him once, then look away quickly because it's all too much. This man is sitting beside me, holding my hand...telling me he _missed_ my eyes and somehow, he means nothing to me. I can't remember loving him, but must have or I wouldn't have married him. I don't remember love at all. Nothing more than the tough love of parents and the tiniest, squirmiest feelings in my stomach when I had a crush on a Ryan Wilson at the start of freshman year. Nothing this big. Nothing this...eternal.

I feel like a fool and I just want him to leave. It's hard knowing so little. Everything inside my head right now is either from my childhood or something I learned in the last hour. Nothing is my own. How can it be if I don't even remember the years leading up to my coma?

"It's okay, baby. Really..." he reaches for me again but I jerk away and fold my arms across my chest. I watch as his chest falls. He seems disappointed but I have to think about me. I'm being a baby right now, but I can't help it. I want to remember so badly. He's not just a friend like I thought he might be, and not recognizing my own husband scares me. "It's all going to be okay, I promise."

I get the feeling there's something he doesn't want to tell me.

"No. It isn't," I snap and I watch the color fade from his eyes. I immediately regret my tone. "I'm empty," I wave toward my head. I'm not angry with him for what he told me. Hell, he _had_ to tell me. I know the doctors suggested he talk to me about my life, but I'm afraid of what's coming next. I don't want to find out we have a child I don't remember or some other horrifying truth. I can't even handle what he's given me now. "Please, Damon. Just go. I need some time alone to think."

His brow knits, but he doesn't push back. Instead, he nods. He's had four years to plan out this moment. I'm sure the doctors told him this could happen. They'd tossed around words like post-traumatic amnesia, but I'm left wondering if the memories will ever come back. I'm afraid they won't...but right now, I'm even more afraid they will.

I don't want to remember being stuck in a burning building while my family melted away. I'm terrified of these missing memories because I have a feeling my brain wants to keep them locked away. It's like I'm blocking something that's too hard to process, and maybe it's best to leave it alone.

"I'll let you relax," he offers, but his voice sounds sad. "And I am sorry. I didn't know how to tell you but I didn't want to lie. I know it's a lot to deal with all at once, but I figure it's better if you get to know the guy who'll be taking care of you when you get released. I'm not trying to scare you."

I'm staring at my empty ring finger when I hear the door close. I married young. I wonder what it's like to love him...if the wedding was an impulse decision or carefully planned out and anticipated? I don't know if my parents approved or if they ever really even knew him at all. And while he's been supportive of me so far, I have no idea what he's like or what he does in life. I don't even remember graduating from high school or starting college.

Mostly, I wonder how the hell I'm going to do this. How can I go home to a place that isn't home at all with a man I barely know? How can I trust my life with a stranger? I fall asleep with these thoughts clouding my head. The next morning when I wake up, I remember what he told me...all the things he said about me and about us. I tell myself that if I listen closely enough, someday his words will fall into place and serve as memories.

He shows up everyday to sit with me and I'm working hard not to shutdown on him like I did that first day. Somedays he's talkative and others he just looks sad, worried, like at any given moment I might decide to leave again. I tuck these thoughts in the back of my mind so I can revisit them later. I'm in no position to start analyzing him at this point, and I'm probably way off base anyway.

I wonder where he sleeps, because he always sticks around until around 10pm when the nurses tell him he has to go unless he plans on spending the night. He hasn't yet, and I can't blame him. It can't be easy having a wife who doesn't remember him. He probably hoped I'd open my eyes and wrap my arms around him. Instead, he's no more recognizable than the nurses taking care of me.

The doctors are still running non-stop tests and I feel like a lab rat. I'm anxious to get out of the hospital, even if I don't know where I'm going when I leave. It's then that I learn he isn't from Wyoming. Not only will I be leaving the hospital with him, I'll also be moving across the country. I'm not leaving anything behind I guess. Maybe it's better that I get away and just start fresh.

While I remember living my life as a teenager, I have trouble doing simple things now. Damon assures me the doctors have made him well aware of my current state. He says he's fully prepared for anything that happens, and I guess I should take comfort in that. I'm just not entirely comfortable relying on him for everything. Even if he is my husband.

* * *

_**Present Day**_

It's finally our row's turn to shuffle into the plane's aisle. I sneak out after Susan, bidding her one last goodbye as Damon reaches up into the overhead compartment to grab our duffle bags. I can't help but watch as the muscles in his arm flex beneath his T-shirt. I'm not the only one who notices, either. Two teenage girls in the row we're passing giggle and he nods a hello before placing his free hand on my shoulder as we walk forward.

"We've got about an hour drive home," he says quietly, nudging me closer toward the front of the plane. "We can stop to eat, if you'd like. You're probably starving."

This place we're headed shouldn't be strange to me. Damon and I moved there three months before the accident, he tells me. I'm going home to my own bed, that I shared with this man, yet I don't remember kissing him or the way he tastes. I can't recall the way his hands feel on my skin or the way it sounds when he says _I love you_. I don't know what it even feels like to be so consumed by someone that I'd promise to feel that way forever.

The airport is as busy as he promised it would be, and though I really want to do things on my own, I'm happy to know one face in this crowd. I walk closely to him, bumping shoulders every once in awhile when someone knocks into us on the moving walkway. He hasn't reached for my hand since we got off the plane, and I'm grateful for the space.

I fell asleep when I was nineteen and he was 21. I was old enough to think like an adult, but I can't help but feel somewhat out of place...like I'm supposed to be more mature or just naturally understand my situation in life. I don't feel well-adjusted at all and I wonder what I'd be like if I'd never gone into that coma.

I was relieved to learn we don't have children. It's bad enough not remembering simple things. I'd never be able to take care of a child, nor would I want him or her to see me this way. I couldn't handle knowing I'd just checked out of consciousness for four years while he was left to take care of babies. I feel awkward enough knowing I'd been away from him so long and that he'd waited. At least I think he'd waited.

My head rattles with questions. Was he forced to choose if I got to stay alive? Did he visit me often while I was asleep? His voice was so soothingly familiar; I had to believe he talked to me in my dreams. It's so hard to remember what I dreamt about while I was away. It was a mix of familiar voice and sounds blended together. The doctors...and Damon, as well as the memory of my parents' voices. They all sounded so concerned, but at the time I just didn't know why.

We step outside and are hit with a blast of cold wind. It's November and the temperatures have already started to nosedive. I tug a pink and purple knit hat over my ears, letting my curls fall to the front of black peacoat, just below my shoulders. I reach up to touch the ends; it's shorter than I remember. I wonder if Damon had it cut on a regular basis to make me seem more like the woman he knew.

He brought a soft pair of jeans and a well-fitting red v-neck t-shirt to the hospital this morning, along with a cozy black cable knit sweater that buttons in the front, saying it was my favorite thing to wear on long trips. I nodded and thanked him, welcoming the comfortable fabric after a long, hot shower. They'd kept me in the hospital for a week and a half after I woke to make sure I was physically okay and mentally stable enough to leave, but this is the first time I've truly been free. I spent the last week and a half a rehab facility, talking to psychologists and neurologists and every other type of doctor deemed necessary for me to see before I was fully released. I went through the motions simply because I wasn't really in a rush to go anywhere. I'm not sure if they thought talking things through would help me remember, but it didn't. I'm still lost, still blank...it's just now I get to see the world again. If there's ever been hope that I'll regain parts of my past, I have to believe it'll come from being around the people and things I used to know.

I shiver a tuck my nose into the collar of my thick coat as we make our way to the car. Damon drives an army green pickup truck. It's not old by any means, but it's not fancy and new, either. I know it's only a car, but it tells me a little about him. It's clean and and the seats are soft and comfortable. I know the clothes don't make the man, but he dresses in a way that makes my mouth water and my heart calm at the same time. He dresses casually, but looks good doing it, and I get the impression he's not trying to show off. He's just naturally attractive, and it radiates off him in waves.

I wonder if that's what attracted me to him in the first place, or if it was something else. While he's given me basic details about where we live – Oak Hill, population 1,003 – and my favorite foods and music, we haven't gotten into the nitty gritty of us. The way we met...the way we fell in love and why on earth we decided to get married when I was only nineteen. Apparently after my little freak out the first day I woke up, the neurologists suggested he take things slowly.

He handed me my wedding ring just before we got on the plane. It's on my finger now, but no matter how hard I try, I can't conjure up the memory of the first time he slipped it on. I've taken it off and put it back on at least a dozen times since we left the rehabilitation center. I feel the same whether it's on or not, but I know I should feel guilty for not wearing it. Especially since the man beside me wore his for four long, tiresome years...even when I was away.

I'm okay with all of this...as long as I know I'm not going home with a stranger or someone who would take advantage of me. Everything about him so far suggests I'm going home with a really good friend. Sophie, one of the nurses who'd taken care of me over the years, seemed to notice my tension at first. After he left the first night after I woke up, she came into my room and told me I didn't need to be afraid of him...that he was a kind man whom I could trust. And I trusted her, because as far as I'm concerned, she knows him better than I do. And it's worked out so far. He hasn't tried anything – no kissing, no hugging, and other than the comment about missing my eyes, he hasn't said anything to make me feel uncomfortable. I wonder what he wants from me, or if this is all just a formality.

He rubs his hands together and breathes into them, the hot air coming out of his mouth in a white mist of condensation. His cheeks are pink and he looks full of life, totally real. I catch him staring up into the winter sky, whispering something once before he ducks into the car and turns the engine.

"So...stupid question," he smiles. "Do you still like pancakes?" His question is easy to answer and lightens the mood. Of course I still like pancakes. How could I not?

"And coffee. Real coffee...not that hospital crap," I stick out my tongue. I have no idea what I'm about to get myself into. I have to trust that when we get home, things will be as he said they'd be. I have to put my faith in an almost-stranger, and hope it's not the biggest mistake of my life. I can't afford to completely let my guard down. I remain on the defense, always aware...because I can't afford to just give myself away.

I don't know what I'm searching for by going home with him. Do I still want the things he says we used to have? Can I be the person I used to be? If I never remember our past, will I even want a future?

"I know just the place," he says, clicking on his seatbelt with a smile. "Best pancakes in the state. Eat two of 'em and you'll be full until breakfast tomorrow." His grin is wide and I notice dimples. He's tugged a red worn baseball cap down over his messy hair, but his bangs still rest across his forehead below the bill. His eyes are incredibly blue, his face still coated in stubble. I'm not so good at analyzing things at the moment, but I decide that he might be someone this new me would wanted to get to know anyway. Even if we _weren't_ married.

I notice the little things about him, because I feel like I should. Everything from the way he walks to the way he opens my car door tells me a little more about the man with whom I'm about to be reacquainted. These past few weeks have been a challenge, but he's approached it in a way that makes me feel supported, not suffocated. I'm not sure if it's because I was always around medical attention when I needed it. I just hope he continues to let me find freedom and find myself, even if that means I'm not the person I used to be. Even if I can't love him the way I used to.


	2. This Is What It Feels Like

**A/N: Wow! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my prologue! I'm really excited to get this story rolling, and look forward to updating as frequently as I can. As I said before, I'll be switching between Elena and Damon's POV. This chapter is our first look into Damon's head, and I really enjoyed taking a crack at it from his perspective. **

**I picked "This Is What It Feels Like" by Armin Van Buuren because the lyrics fit into my story perfectly.**

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Oblivion **

**Chapter 1: This Is What It Feels Like**

**Present Day - Damon POV**

"There you are! What the hell are you doing out here? " The words come out harsher than I mean them to and I remind myself to calm down, as hard as it is. I'm not angry, just worried, and need to let my relief wash over me before I continue.

We live in the country and our property is huge. It's not just our house and a backyard. Our modern two-story log cabin style home sits on 10 acres of land, and it's not well lit. It'd be pitch black outside if not for the blizzard. It's almost a complete white-out, so bright it almost looks like daytime. The snow is cold, but it's the wind that's so unbearable. I don't want to think how long she's been sitting out here on a stupid fence in nothing more than a pair of knee-high leather boots, jeans and a sweatshirt. Her dark hair is coated with sparkly white snow flakes and she looks like an angel, but I'm too pissed to think on it for very long. I just want to get her inside where it's warm before she catches pneumonia.

"I've been looking for you for over an hour," I explain, stepping closer to her. "You can't just run off like that without saying something. I thought...shit, I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't good, okay?" I tousle my hair a bit to get the building snow off it, then wait for her to get moving.

She blinks at me as if I'm absolutely crazy. I won't lie; I probably look that way right now. It's 1 a.m. I woke up in the middle of the night dying for a glass of milk, and decided to peek in the guest room to make sure she'd fallen asleep. To my surprise, she was gone.

I told myself not to panic, but for God's sake, it's the middle of the night and she doesn't even know where the hell she is! After I called the cell phone I bought her and heard it ringing on her mattress, I freaked. I just got her back. There's no way in hell I'm letting anything happen to her ever again.

I sleep naked. No, I'm not naked now. That'd just be ridiculous. I'd slid into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before making the trip to the kitchen for my drink, not wanting to freak her out if she happened to be up. Yes, I'm pretty sure me walking around naked would fall into the category the doctors labeled _gradual steps_.

I was in too much of a rush to put on decent boots, so I slipped on the first pair of shoes I could find, some stupid moccasins my mother got me last Christmas. They're not made for the outdoors and especially not waterproof, because my feet are frozen and completely soaked through. I want to tell her to hurry the hell up and get over here, but from the way things have been going the last few days, I think that would only make it worse.

"Seriously. Do you want to get sick?" I ask. I mean, I'm out here in barely anything out of necessity. She's out here sightseeing. "I mean it, Elena. This isn't the time to be stubborn just to prove you can be your own person. Come here so we can go back inside, or I'm going to pick you up and carry you home."

Her feet slide off the rickety fence beam and onto the ground. The stupid part of me kind of hoped I'd be forced to scoop her up in my arms and bring her back to our home. She's right in front of me and has been, every day for three weeks, but I still miss her so much. I wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless the moment I saw her eyes for the very first time in four years. But I couldn't, because she looked up at me like I was a stranger. And it felt like I'd lost her all over again.

But she's here now, upright and stubborn as hell. She tucks her red hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt and marches back toward the bright light mounted on the back porch of our house like a teenager pissed at her parents. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd find her here. Sitting on a fence in much need of repair, surrounding the pond on our property. She hasn't said a word yet, and that worries me, but I'm happy she's going inside where it's warm. I have no fucking clue how long she's been out here in this mess.

I'm blasted by the heat from the vent above our entrance as I close the door behind us. She plops down on the bench in the hall and yanks her boots off, leaving clumps of dirty snow all over our hardwood floor. I smile, because this is so _not_ the Elena I remember. She'd be on her hands and knees wiping up the moisture before it could soak into the wood. Hell, she'd never have wandered off into the woods in the middle of a blizzard in the first place.

My moccasins are wrecked but I don't care. I walk barefoot through the melting snow chucks and follow her as she walked toward her bedroom. This whole silent treatment thing is familiar, but this time I didn't do anything to deserve it...I don't think.

"Wanna talk about it?" I ask, clearing my throat. Her cheeks are stained red from the cold and her hair is soaked and flat, void of her usual waves. I move a little closer when her hand touches her door knob, and she finally looks up. Now that we're inside and I can see her clearly, I can tell she's been crying. My frustration melts and I let out a sigh. Jesus, this isn't getting any easier.

"I went for a walk. I couldn't sleep. Thought the fresh air would help me think," she answers simply. My God, does she even realize the danger she put herself in? There's animals out there, wild ones, not to mention the life-threatening wind-chills and ice. She could've gotten seriously hurt. Fallen. Cracked her head. I've never been so happy about waking up in the middle of the night as I am right now. "I didn't think you'd care."

"I do. Not that you want to go for a walk and think for awhile, just that you're careful and don't do it in the middle of the night," I explain. She looks confused or surprised, but her eyes lighten up a bit like she understands. Maybe this whole thing isn't about stubbornness at all. It's hard to remember that she forgets little, easy things like this. It's like she knows it, somewhere, but her common sense is a few steps behind. I'm immediately humbled.

She's Elena, but she's not, and I both love and hate it. The therapists keep telling me not to force her into remembering, but also not to make mention of this new life. So we're in this god awful limbo where I remember everything and she doesn't. And I'm not mad at her. Of course I'm not. Just like I'm not angry that she was in coma for four years. It's not her fault and if she hadn't woken up that day, she's still be in the hospital because there was no way I was ending her chances. She didn't survive that fire just to die in a hospital bed.

I'm just happy to have her back right now, even if it scares me. Because I know us, the good and the bad, and she has no freakin' clue. We've been home for two days and still just not sure how to even start.

"I should try to sleep," she offers. "But I'm too wound up."

"You need to warm up," I spot her red ears through her hair. She looks completely wiped out. Her clothes are baggy on her, as she lost a lot of weight from having been fed through a tube for four years. She was tiny to begin with, and I can't help but be afraid she'll break if we're not careful.

"How about you take a hot shower, change into some warm clothes and see how you feel. If you're still not tired, we'll have some hot chocolate or something."

Thankfully, this suggestion goes over smoothly. I hear the shower turn on in the neighboring room and fill the teapot with fresh water to heat on the stove. I'm wound up now, too. And worried that she'll sneak out again if I don't keep an eye on her.

I don't want to treat her like a child, but sometimes I have to make things as easy as possible. She's a beautiful, grown woman. She's intelligent and before this all happened, she knew what she wanted and how to get it. I can't imagine what she's thinking. It must be terrible to feel so lost inside herself. I'm glad she remembers some things. It's not like I had to teach her how to tie her shoe all over again or how to brush her teeth. It's the weirdest things she doesn't get – like not going out without a jacket in the middle of a blizzard, and not touching the oven rack with her bare hand.

The kettle whistles softly and I grab two packs of hot chocolate from the box in the cupboard. When I close the door, I allow myself to look at the picture on the wall for the first time since we came home. It's of us. She's 18, I'm 20, and we have these huge shit-eating grins plastered on our faces. We're young and hopeful, but completely irresponsible. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd meet my future wife that day.

* * *

**Five years ago...**

"You see that, man?" My buddy Ryan asks, tipping his head to the left of our tent. "What the hell is a chick like that doing here?"

I've got a cigarette in one hand and an ice cold bottle of beer in the other. It's 5 a.m., or damn near close. We drove across the country to California for this outdoor music festival two days ago and everything's starting to blur together. Our tent is surrounded by hundreds of others in a muddy field, but it's worth it. The music is amazing. Because he's still squinting away from the tent, even as he takes a huge drag from his cigarette, I glance to my left. At first I think he's seeing things again. I wouldn't doubt it after the kind of shit he's into. I swear I've gotten a contact high at least three times from just being in the same tent as him. We've been roommates for two years so I know how it is; The kid's only happy when he's high as a kite.

"Seriously, though," he says again. "She's like the most fucking beautiful thing I've ever seen. Little miss princess or some shit," he swigs his beer and I look again, but this time I see exactly what he's talking about. I see her. My head's swimming with alcohol and I barely slept a wink, but I'm conscious enough to know that something's wrong.

I stand, brushing off the back of my jeans as best I can, and walk toward her. She's barefoot and can't walk a straight line. Her skinny jeans are rolled up to her knees and her tan ankles and feet are covered in mud. She's looking at the ground, swiping her hands at something only she can see. I know she's not watching where she's going, so in about twenty seconds she's going to run right into me. That's okay. I don't plan on moving.

As fate would have it, we collide. I'm quite a bit taller than her, and steady enough on my feet that she doesn't come close to knocking me over. She's aware enough to push her hands against my chest to hold herself up. They're warm against my bare skin, and for a second I think of how they'd feel on the rest of me. Then she looks up and I stop thinking altogether.

Ryan's right; she's gorgeous. Her eyes are like big pools of melted chocolate and her dark hair falls in pretty long waves down her back. Once I'm able to tear my focus away from her beauty, I notice her eyes are red and surrounded by smeared, runny black eyeliner that looks like it's been caked on for days. Two black streaks run down her cheeks, like she's been crying for days, too.

"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask, instantly regretting my slip of tongue. I hope she doesn't take it seriously; I use stupid pet names more often than not when I talk to women. "You look a little out of place here."

"Can you please get out of my way?" She sniffs.

"You're a little wobbly on your feet," I point out, resting my cigarette between my lips. I move my beer to my other hand, then place my free hand on her shoulder to steady her. " What the hell kind of friends leave you walking around alone like this? And how long you been searching for them?"

She shrugs and picks at her finger nails, staring at her dirty feet once more. "I don't know. Awhile." She looks up at me again and I'm done for. I can tell she's trying to be tough, like this doesn't bother her, but there's no way in hell she's okay. Where are her shoes, for god's sake?

Normally I'd leave someone like this alone, but she's by herself and clearly out of her element. Her ears are dotted with pearl earrings and she's wearing a pink shirt and cream cardigan combo that looks more expensive than my car. What's this chick doing at a place like this, especially alone? I don't know anything about her, but she looks far too fancy to sleep in a tent in a muddy field.

I can't ignore the way her stomach growls. It's sort of adorable. I don't know what I'm doing or why I'm even still standing her talking to her, but before I know it, my mouth starts running again.

"You hungry? My buddy and I are making campfire breakfast back at the tent. You like pancakes?" I offer. For a moment, I think she's going to turn me down. She surprises me when she tells me she's never had them.

Never had them. Pancakes. I just keep thinking, _C__ome on Princess, what the hell do they feed you for breakfast up in that tower?_ Okay, so much for not being judgmental. Once she sobers up a bit she'll have plenty to analyze about me. If she sticks around long enough to find out.

Right now, I just need to get some food in her stomach. Something tells me alcohol isn't the only thing making her foggy. Her pretty eyes are red and behind a mask of expensive smelling perfume, I detect a familiar pungent smell. I try to picture her with a joint between those pretty pink lips of hers, but I can't. This doesn't look like her scene. I get the feeling she's just lost.

"Are they gluten free?" She blinks her puffy red eyes.

Is she serious? Does it matter?

"Tell me that's the pot talking, baby." I say before I can censor myself. "They're fucking pancakes. You think I worry about all that? And what the hell kind of girl your age hasn't ever had a pancake? Are you like allergic or something?"

"No. My mother just insists I don't eat gluten," she says with a frown, like it's just dawned on her that she's a grown up and can do whatever the hell she wants. I wonder if her mom's voice is always in the back of her head and am grateful that I have a mother who lets me be myself. Even if she doesn't always approve of what I do.

"Well Mommy ain't here and if she was, I can't imagine she'd appreciate the trip you're on right now. And I mean that literally. Am I right or am I right?"

She giggles, and I tell myself it's not the drugs. She's not seeing me as a giant pillsbury dough boy or something. She just thinks i'm funny...because I am.

God, what the hell am I doing? I'm flirting with her. Normally, this is something I'd high-five myself over. Or at least try to. She's hot, but she's vulnerable and I'd be a complete asshole to take advantage of this right now. I tell myself it's just pancakes and somehow I'm fine with it again.

She looks at me through glassy eyes and begins to laugh. I'm not sure if she's delirious or finds this genuinely funny, but what the hell should I care? I don't like to judge people on the way they live their lives. I'm good with nicotine and alcohol, never caring to venture into anything harder, and something tells me this girl isn't someone who normally does either. It strikes a protective nerve in me and I'm too curious to let this one go. At least not without a few answers.

"Come on," I rest my arm around her cardigan wrapped shoulders and lead her back toward my tent. I don't know her name or one thing about her. I just know there's something about her that I kind of like. I plan on introducing her to Ryan but in the few moments it took us to get back to the site, he's passed out and snoring inside the tent.

I snatch some wet wipes from my duffel bag so we can clean up a little. It'd take an entire pack to wash the dirt off her legs and feet, but I'll offer to walk her down to the creek later so she can clean up a bit. I'm a little afraid to send her off on her own, the way she's walking.

She sits on the grass and folds her legs beneath her as I open the cooler and whip out the container of batter I mixed up last night. I push the sleeves of my black henley up to my elbows and pour the batter onto the small skillet I packed. I wait, them flip then once and lean back on my hands waiting until they're golden brown.

I finished my first cigarette and am already ready for another, so I slip one between my lips and flick my lighter. In an instant, I'm calmed and chance a look in my mystery girl's direction. Her eyes are wide and she's staring at my lips like they're a glass of water in the desert.

Jesus, I'm honored.

She crawls a little closer to me on her hands and knees before pulling the cigarette out of my mouth and resting it in her own. It's the sexiest thing in the world right now. When she pulls it out, I notice her red lipstick stain on the paper.

She exhales toward the sky and looks back at me with this devilish smile. I'll admit, I'm confused as hell. She's like a devil dressed in angel clothing and I wonder what else she's hiding behind those big brown eyes.

"I'm kind of high," she admits before saying anything else. She looks so damn sexy with that cigarette I can't ask for it back. I'll get another one after breakfast.

"I kind of figured," I nod. The pancakes are done, so I slide one off with the side of a fork and plate it up for her. I hope a paper plate will do. She smiles, then douses it in the butter and syrup I set out next to us before digging in. She eats another and I'm oddly satisfied. I've never taken care of someone in my life. I can barely take care of myself.

After a short while, she begins to talk.

"I'm not a druggie," she blurts out between bites. I wonder if she's finally crashing. "I've never done something like this before." It's summer, but the morning air is cool and it sends a shiver through her. "Starting to think it wasn't such a great idea."

"So what're you doing out here, anyway?"

I'm not offering information about myself, like for instance I don't live in California. I keep the conversation focused on her, because it's got to be more interesting than my life.

"I came with friends from school. I'm a freshman at Stanford," she bites her lower lip and I nearly die. "My roommate Avery and I came out here last night to listen to a few bands we like and ended up partying with a guy she likes from her psych class. Like I said, I'm not one to do this. I just..." she shakes her head. "Forget it. I don't know why I'm telling you all this anyway. Long story short, I lost my phone somewhere in the field and can't find Avery. For all I know she forgot I'm even here."

I wonder if that's what she was looking for when she ran into me. I wonder what the world looks like to her when she has to be herself.

"Shitty friend," I mutter. I sort of wish I hadn't said it. Insulting her roommate probably isn't the best way to keep her talking. Her pancakes are nearly gone and I realize this means she'll probably be gone, too. "But whatever, right? We all get into stuff sometimes. I guess it doesn't have to define us."

I pat myself on the back because that sounded really intelligent. I'm struck with the need to tell her my name, to keep this small connection going. "I'm Damon," I pull out my pack of cigarettes and pull one out to give to her before grabbing my own. She leans in so I can light it and I catch that sweet vanilla scent again. She puffs it once, then leaves it in her lips and begins to work her messy hair into a long, thick braid, tying it at the end with a band that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I'm shocked at how even it is, all things considering.

"Elena," she says. I try to tell myself she's just another girl that I'll forget as soon as she walks away, but something inside of me knows it won't be the case. "Thanks for the pancakes, Damon."

"My pleasure," I stand up and wipe my hands on my jeans before tucking them in my pockets. The conversation has reached a standstill and I'm desperate to find a way to keep her near me. Honestly, Ryan's been out of it nearly the entire time we've been here and it'd be nice to have someone to hang out with and listen to new bands. Doesn't hurt that she's hot, either.

"Here. Punch your number in my phone," I hand it to her and watch as her beautiful brow creases in confusion. "I've got plenty of battery life left, so we can walk around dialing it until we hear it ring."

"You realize it could take forever, right?" She yawns. "I have no clue where I've all been."

I shrug. Of course I realize this. It's exactly my plan. That, and to have her phone number for when this is all said and done. I offer her a smile that I hope she knows means I'm up for anything, then tug on my red Wisconsin Badgers hat and duck briefly into the tent. Ryan's really out. He doesn't even move as I reach across him to grab my extra pair of boots.

"Slip these on," I offer. She stares at me like I've officially lost my mind. "Yeah, I know. They'll be huge on you, but it's better than walking around with nothing. You know how many broken bottles I've seen around here? It's amazing you haven't cut yourself on one yet."

Without a word she slips into them and pulls the laces as tight as she can. I don't even care that she's wrecking the insides with her dirty feet. She can keep the boots for all I care. If all goes well she won't give a damn about the phone by the end of the night and we can grab some fair food and listen to some bands before she takes off forever.

It's like I told my mom last week, I may look like I'm walking around aimlessly, but I always have a plan.

* * *

_**Present Day**_

I'm at a point in my life where my past has begun to haunt me. I like to think I've got it pretty together now. This awesome responsible side of me is due partly to the fact I've been on my own for years. I've had time to grow up and learn the things I should've before I met Elena. I'd like to think I'd still be at this point even if she'd never been in that fire, but the truth is, I'm not so sure. Her near death woke me the hell up and I haven't looked back since.

"Fall asleep standing up?" Her sweet voice snaps me back to the moment and I realize the kettle's whistling loudly on the stovetop. My back is to her, and when I turn, I see she's now focused on the very thing that had been holding my attention for so long. The picture.

I smile sadly when I see no recognition of that particular memory in her pretty brown eyes. I mix two mugs of hot chocolate and hand one easily to her. She seems to instantly warm when her hand wraps around the ceramic, and closes her eyes with her first sip. It dawns on me that this could very well seem like her first hot chocolate. It's so touch and go with what she recalls.

"It's really good," she says softly. I can't help but smile at the thin layer of foam that's made itself comfortable on her upper lip. She's got the cutest hot chocolate mustache I've ever seen and if this was any normal circumstance, I'd snap a picture just to remember it.

When the doctors talked to me about bringing her home, they went through this whole spiel about how important a simple picture can be. It has the potential to trigger memories quicker, but there's never any guarantees. The walls of our home are filled with photographs, many of which I added after the accident so I could see her right away every time I walked into a room. I thought about taking some down before she got here, but couldn't bring myself to do so. I think she's been purposely avoiding looking at them, though, because she trains her eyes on the floor when she walks from room to room.

I've been so caught up in our misfortune that I haven't taken the time to really think back on how it all began in a long while. The memories are bittersweet. Both sad and exhilarating, but I'm afraid to share too much because I don't want to freak her out more than she already seems to be.

"How old are we there?" She asks, her eyes flicking to the photo once more. I'm thrown off guard because it's the first time she's really asked for details about our past. I've waited for this moment for forever, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go there just yet.

"Eighteen and twenty," I watch the questions form in her head as she takes in the playfulness of the photo. We're standing close, covered in mud, our foreheads pressed together. The shot was taken from far away, but I can remember the details to a tee. Her white cardigan is unbuttoned over the top of her muddy pink blouse and her brown braid hangs over one shoulder.

Ryan had woken up after a long day of traipsing through the fields searching for her lost phone and stopping to listen to a bunch of different bands throughout the grounds. He'd finally done something cool and snapped a photo of us from twenty feet away. We never did find her phone, but I'd like to think we came away with something better. The picture's been hanging on the wall of every place I've lived in since that day. I love it for more than obvious reasons.

What the photo doesn't show is the the vulnerability in her eyes just before she kissed me or the sweet motion of her lips when she told me she wasn't ready to go home, after all. Even after marrying her, it's hard to believe that the woman before me now is the same woman I found that day. I remind myself to never let myself forget how lucky I am to have her.

"We look happy," she nods, then turns completely away from it. "I wish I could remember how I felt that day."

We're seated across from each other at the kitchen table, staring into our mugs of cocoa like they hold the answer to our greatest question: _Where do we go from here? _Because I honestly don't know. I never know what to say or do anymore, and I'm constantly worried she'll take off like she did tonight.

I don't think she gets the magnitude of it all, and I don't expect her to. She doesn't know what she lost, but I remember everything, and it's taking everything I have not to push these mugs off the table and lay her down on it so I can press her lips to mine and finally feel the her body moving beneath mine again. But I'm not stupid and I'm not selfish. I know what that would do. It'd send her wandering, and this time, she might jus decide to stay in a hotel until her memories come back.

"I'm sorry I took off earlier. I wasn't thinking. It's just really hard being here. Harder than I thought. This house is beautiful. It's a _home_," she smiles. "It just doesn't feel like my home yet. I thought I'd walk through the door and at least remember something. The way it smells like pine or the beautiful hardwood floors cold against my bare feet. But I wander around here like a guest and after two days, nothing's coming back. I'm worried it never will."

I let out a grateful sigh. She's opening up to me and it's a gift. I want to be supportive and show her that I'm patient and that it'll be fine, no matter what happens in the end. I told myself a long time ago that regardless of whether she remembers everything or nothing at all, I'll love her all the same. How can I not?

"I honestly didn't think about the consequences or about how it would affect you. I guess I didn't _know_ how it would. I'm not used to people caring what I do," she smiles sadly and I'm met with the eyes of my 18-year-old Elena. My heart aches for her, because unlike her, I know what happened to bring her to the point of getting high out of her mind around strangers at a music festival.

We talk a bit more, but nothing worth getting excited over. We've hung around the house a lot since we got back. I've made a few trips to the store to get groceries and other personal items she's needed, but she insisted on staying back, afraid of running into people who knew her. She says she's tired of so many strangers, and I guess I can understand that. Tomorrow we have plans to venture out to the mall a few miles outside Milwaukee. She needs new clothes that actually fit her, and it'll be nice to get her out into the world again.

She's yawns widely and it reminds me of a lion, the way it aways has. When she's tired, she's exhausted, and her tiny body needs all the time to recuperate that it can get. I've taken a few weeks off work to get her settled, and I'm hoping she'll be up to meeting people again by the time I need to go back. I can't stand the thought of her being lonely.

"Hope the sugar doesn't keep you up," I offer outside the guestroom door. I don't know what else to do, and I have to keep myself busy so I don't do something stupid that would make her uncomfortable. Like hug her.

"It won't be the sugar," she tells me. I know what she means. I've been kept up with nightmares lately, too. "Goodnight, Damon."

She looks sleepy and weak, and right now, I really want to tell her I love her. I said the words a thousand times while she was in her coma, but I'm not sure what she could hear or if she remembers it at all. I haven't had the chance to look her in the eyes and say it to her in over four years, and it's torture. It's the itch I can't scratch, the words I mouth when she isn't looking my way. It's the promise I made to her just a little over four years ago that I'm planning on keeping for the rest of my life. Whether she remembers me or not.

I substitute those three words with "Goodnight, Elena," and know it'll have to do for now, but as soon as she closes the door behind her, I whisper _I love you_, anyway.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	3. Moon

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the great reviews! I've been working on this chapter with a broken ring finger, which has proved to be harder than I would've thought. I asked the doctor if I could use that finger to type and he said to avoid it, so I'm splinted up and typing with the wrong fingers. :) Bear with me for 4-6 weeks, here. I'll update as frequently as I can.**

**We're back in Elena's head for this one. I'm enjoying flipping back and forth between D and E as the chapters go on.**

**I chose Sia's "Moon" for this chapter. Thanks again for reading.**

* * *

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 2: Moon**

Elena POV

It's nearing the end of November.

I'm sitting on a well-used swing on our screen porch with my knees pulled up to my chest and my bare feet pressed into the wood. The chains are old and squeak as I swing forward, then back, hoping the motion will somehow calm my thoughts. I didn't fall asleep last night. I should be exhausted, but honestly, I'm sick of sleep. There's a tiny part of me that worries I may never wake up or that I'll regress and forget Damon all over again. I haven't remembered anything about him yet...but he's been around everyday since I woke up and I've grown used to it. These days, routine is important.

Yesterday was kind of a turning point for us. We've been eating a lot of take out, and while I love Chinese food and a little greasy pizza now and then, I was really starting to crave homemade food. I asked Damon to take me to the grocery store to pickup the ingredients I'd need to try my hand at a meatloaf recipe I found in a cooking magazine, along with some salad and items to make dessert. I picked up a bottle of red wine while I was at, thrilled by the simple fact I've never been able to legally buy it before. I heard Damon chuckle when I proudly presented my still valid driver's license with a picture of myself looking far younger than I do now.

It turns out I can actually cook. It's kind of crazy, considering I grew up with a mother who didn't touch an oven in her life. I was in an awesome mood for once, happy that things seemed to be going my way for a change. Dinner was going well. We were three glasses of wine deep and laughing about something we'd seen on the way home from the store, when suddenly something in the air between us shifted.

He reached across the table to rub a glob of sauce from the corner of my mouth. My body was a million miles ahead of my head, because my tongue slipped out to touch the pad of his finger as it rubbed the length of my lower lip. He let out a guttural groan and his warm, calloused fingertips moved below my chin and tipped my face upward. I complied, because how could I not? His touch was soft and commanding at the same time. And, yes, I might be stubborn as hell, but there was something insanely hot about all of this. I brought my eyes to his, and was met with a look he hadn't yet given me since I woke up from my coma. It was white-hot.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, placing his fork down next to his plate and scooting closer in toward the table so both of his warm hands could cup my cheeks. I don't know if it was the alcohol warming his blood or the fact that he's had to behave around me for four weeks, but his look was primal when his fingers slipped into my hair. I wondered what it would be like to close my eyes and kiss him. To forget everything else and just give in. My thoughts came to a halt when he licked his lips and pressed his thumbs gently into my earlobes. "Jesus. It's not even fair."

Then it all came crashing down and I was hit with a dose of reality. It isn't fair. Any of it. And I need to stop all this before I let him kiss me, because I'm not so sure who it would confuse more.

His eyes were liquid heat, filled with longing and something else I couldn't quite read, but it startled me. Damon's fingers tightened in my hair and it felt amazing, but I'll admit I wasn't sure quite what to do with it. I felt like a child, and that's the last thing I wanted to explain to my husband

Oh, I'm plenty attracted to him. I'm just not sure what sparked the moment. Did he see something in me that reminded him of the way we used to be, or was it just that moment...me...now? I still don't know, because I freaked out and left the table before he could explain.

Yes. It sounds like something I would've done when I was seventeen and couldn't deal with my parents, but that's the only way I remember handling thing. I can't imagine the look I must've been giving him. At seventeen, I'd never been looked at that way.

I didn't resurface from my room until almost 11 pm, and I found Damon sipping a bottle of beer on the front porch steps next to a dusting of snow. He looked up at me, and this time, his eyes were full of apology. He didn't make a move to touch me, and after I apologized for not only freaking out but also for leaving him with half-eaten food and a pile of dirty dishes, I asked him for a favor.

I knew it was a lot to ask, especially since he's already waited for years, but I'm trying to be honest, so I went ahead and did it anyway. I'll never forget way his light in his eyes dimmed a little when I asked him if we could just be friends for now.

I know. How ridiculous. The man waits years for his wife to wake up and when she finally does, she only wants to be his buddy. Maybe it's selfish of me not to try, but something tells me it would be so much worse if I forced myself into something more. I'm not going to kiss him and sleep with him then cross my fingers that when I wake up I'll remember everything. I'd rather build a new relationship with him, as someone I can trust in this world, because right now, I really need a friend.

I think my request killed him a little, but I've come to learn that Damon's too kind and gentle with me to put up much of a fight. I'm sure this isn't easy, and I hope one day I can make it up to him. I know we're married and it's not like I'm telling him to go off and be with other women. I may not remember loving him, but I know he's mine, and this sacred union of ours is still intact. I'm also not selfish enough to believe I'll really be able to keep him if I never do get my memory back. He may love me, but how long can we go on like this? How can he possibly be forever content staying married to a woman who feels nothing for him?

I sigh and remind myself this is the very reason I suggested we stick to friendship for now. It's not a free pass to sleep around, of course, but it's taking off some of the pressure and I hope it'll help me figure a few things out about myself. Like how I want to live my life, now that I was given a second chance.

I smile as my fingers slide over the note Damon left for me on the kitchen table this morning.

_Went hunting. I'll be back by lunch...if you're awake by then ;) Help yourself to whatever you want. My phone's on vibrate so feel free to call. – Damon_

It's written in blue ink and dotted with coffee stains, The paper's frayed on the left side like he tore it from a spiral notebook in a rush, his handwriting a little bit messy. I smile, because even though I'm just getting to know him, this note definitely has a Damon vibe. It doesn't hold awkwardness and I'm happy to see he meant what he said about our relationship.

I heard him leaving the house around 5:30 a.m.; he isn't exactly quiet. I'm sure he's not used to having to tiptoe around his own place. I heard everything from his loud boots clomping around the kitchen, to the screen door creaking open and closed over and over again as he got all of his equipment ready.

Hunting. I would've never guessed. Yeah, he has this outdoorsy way about him, but he lights up at the sight of animals and I wouldn't have pegged him for a hunter. I can't fault him for doing the things he loves, no matter how I feel about it.

I'm sure this is all new to him again; he hasn't had anyone to answer to in four years. Suddenly I'm back, and it can't be easy. And while I kind of miss having coffee with him when I wake up, I'm really happy he went off on his own for awhile today. He's been so busy taking care of me that I'm afraid he isn't taking time for himself. A few nights ago one of his buddy's invited him out to watch a football game and have some beers at a sports bar and he turned it down. He tried telling me he didn't want to go anyway, but I know better. He's afraid I'll run if he leaves me alone for too long.

My eyes float to the note again. I can't help it; it's adorable. The writing's slanted off the lines, like it was an afterthought. I can picture it, too – Damon halfway to the woods before deciding he better let me know where he went so I don't panic if I wake up and he's gone.

We've been back in Wisconsin for a week and I'm finally starting to settle in. It's not familiar like I'd hoped it would be the first time I walked through the door, but it's toasty warm inside and has all the makings of a home. There's a rustic fireplace in the living room and a wrap-around porch that reaches all the way to the back of the house and allows for a perfect view of the lake behind us. Our property is huge and when I asked him how we managed to afford it, he told me it's been in his family for years. He won't say much else about it and I won't push. I definitely understand how it feels to not want to talk all the time.

Each room is painted a different color and the walls are collaged with pictures of the two of us. I haven't had it in me to ask very many questions, but I will soon. I avoided looking at very many of the pictures because they only made me sad. But something's changed now, and I'm working on being okay with it.

Two hours ago, when I found his note stuck to the kitchen table, I decided enough was enough. If I can't bring myself to ask Damon questions, I need to at least try to look at my past on my own. It's easier this way, because I don't have to worry about the look on his face when he realizes I don't remember one of his favorite memories. Like the first day we met. Or our wedding.

I know I'm putting too much pressure on myself and I could actually be hindering my progress by doing so. I've been so caught up in wondering what I would normally do, that I haven't been thinking about what I want right now. It's just hard, because the way I remember myself is very different from the happy-go-lucky me dotted all over our walls.

Take for instance the picture I'm looking at now. We're young, with goofy grins on our faces and our forks and knives positioned to dig into our humongous plates of turkey on Thanksgiving Day. My hair's knotted up in a messy bun on the top of my head and my diamond shines brightly on my finger. I The back of the picture is dated just a month before the fire. I look happy and silly, like life was easy and finally going my way...like there was nothing in the world that could rip that look off my face...no tragedy great enough to make me lose that moment.

I'm holding a photo album filled with pictures of just the two of us during our short time together. The book can hold 200 photos, and somehow it's packed. I'm stuck on this photo right now because I'd like to learn something. Thanksgiving is in just a few nights and we're going over to Damon's mother's house for a full-blown, gut-busting meal, and I'm nervous as hell.

I begged him to let me wait a few weeks to re-meet everyone, and now I'm ready to kick myself for it. While it's been nice having time on my own, I'm not sure meeting Damon's family (again) for the first time is such a good idea on a holiday—especially considering we're taking the friends route for now. He tells me it'll be a pretty small group, but I'm still afraid of messing something up or doing something wrong.

And that's why I made a pretty important decision this morning when I rolled out of bed.

I don't remember a damn thing, and I'm going to stop trying. I need to be myself – this me – and not have to worry about what I would've done in the past. I'm sick of being sad and I want to start my life over. I want to do it without worrying I'll disappoint someone, but I'm just not sure that's possible. All I know is I have to try something different, and if I'm meant to remember, I will...in the end.

I close the album and squint toward the woods when I see two figures walking back toward the house. It's 10 a.m., no where near lunch, but I'm happy he's home early. I don't know anything about hunting except that he loves it and it requires him to be quiet for hours at a time. The man has patience.

As he gets closer, I can make out the person behind him. It's a young woman with black hair tied back in thin ponytails and a blaze orange cap pulled over her head. She's carrying a gun bag and a duffel, and I can hear her call something out to Damon but I can't make out the words. He turns, then tugs the brim of her cap down playfully and laughs and I feel my insides twist. I don't know who this woman is, but the easy way he's laughing with her makes me a little sad. Envious.

I'm starting to wonder if he understood our little talk yesterday.

Before they make it into the screen porch, I'm back inside the house, sitting at the kitchen table flipping through the newspaper like I didn't see them at all. I tucked the photo album under a stack of magazines because I really don't want to answer questions right now. I'm only looking at these photos because I'm interested, not because I'm trying to be _her_ again.

"Morning, Elena," he says, walking around the table until he's facing me.

"Morning," I look up into his eyes and my heartbeat kicks up a few notches. Just because I refuse to act on my attraction doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

He's sweating and it's sexy as hell. His cheeks are pink from the cold wind and the long walk home. It's times like these I tell myself he's mine and that I shouldn't feel nervous around him. That this attraction is a good thing; maybe it's my body remembering him when my mind can't.

He's in a pair of camouflage pants and thick black boots, and he's peeling off his blaze orange coat and gloves and dropping them on the floor. He's left a trail of mud and leaves from the back porch to wear he stands now. I'm quick to glare from his eyes to his mess and back, and he smiles and scoops his belongings up quickly. Just because he's smoking hot doesn't mean I'm going to let him drop his shit all over the house. That much I do know.

"Sorry. I'm about to hop in the shower. Bad luck huntin'. Almost had one, but it got away," he sighs. "Good thing it's only the start of the season. Plenty of time."

"By 'almost had one' he means he saw a buck off in the distance and missed it by a mile," I hear a soft voice say from behind him. Damn, I'd almost forgotten about her. Damon rolls his eyes and she walks up to him to tousle his already messy hair. Excuse me while I gag. I'm just about to do something irrational like flash my wedding ring to stake my claim when Damon's voice interrupts my jealousy.

"Way to bruise my ego," he pokes her in the ribs until she jumps back. I look away, completely out of sorts for some reason. He clears his throat, and when we make eye contact, I see realization in his blue pools. "Just remember who taught you how to hunt to begin with."

He puts his hand on the woman's back and leads her slightly forward again until she's beside him and right in front of me. "This is Harlow," he says carefully. "My twin sister."

Excuse me? Yeah, we've played it pretty simply, but I would've figured he'd have shared this minor detail, especially since I'm about to dive head first into his family again in a few days.

He looks guilty, like he knows it could upset me to introduce me to her-his twin-this way, but I can't bring myself to be angry with him. He's smiling like an idiot around her, and it's nice to finally see him relaxed. He's bent over backwards for me since the moment I woke up, and it's about time he has a little time for himself.

Harlow steps forward and I stand up awkwardly. I'm not sure if I should shake her hand or hug her, and I wonder what our relationship was like before the accident. I'm curious, because her eyes are filled with a thin sheet of tears. Instead of a hug, she presses her hand into mine, like we're really meeting for the first time, and it eases me in a way. But only slightly.

"Hi," she says sweetly with a smile that says she's means every word. "I'm so happy you're home. We've really missed you, Elena."

"Thank you," I nod and smile politely, because I'm not sure what else to say. I'm sure Damon has given her the spiel about my status. I don't think she was expecting a big happy reunion, but still, this moment is big and this time I'm going to remember it.

My sister-in-law is beautiful, much like her brother. Now that my jealousy is completely at bay and I feel like an idiot for even doubting his loyalty, I can see the resemblance. Her eyes are the same striking blue and she's tall and slender.

"So. I'm going to grab a shower," he says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder toward the staircase. "You want some coffee or something, 'Low?"

The corners of my lips turn up at his nickname for her. He's been so gentle with everyone we've come in contact with. I know I must've hit the jackpot with this one.

Harlow glances at me carefully. She must pick up on my nerves, because she politely declines.

"I think I better get home before Andrew gets back from his trip. I'd like to shower and actually smell like a woman since I haven't seen him in a week," she winks at him and he feigns a gag. I catch myself smiling at the ease that exists between them. "But I'll see you guys at Mom's in a few days?"

Damon nods and gives her a look I can't decipher, but she seems to understand. Must be weird twin magic or something. She's gone in a moment's time and I find myself at the table alone again. He excused himself for his shower without saying much, and now I'm left feeling a little out of sorts. I need to tell him about my decision, no matter how afraid of how it will go over.

Before I can stop myself, I'm at his bedroom door. It's closed, so I let myself in.

"Holy hell, Lena. If you only want to be friends you better learn how to knock. I'm practically naked in here," he teases. I freeze as I take it all in. It's the first time I've been in here since the fire, and I'm immediately hit with the scent of dark spices. Then it happens.

The smell is so familiar I almost can't breathe. I give it a minute, inhaling and exhaling, unable to get enough of the way it makes me feel, but the moment ends when I open my eyes and see him sitting at the edge of his bed shirtless. Okay, now that's just not fair.

He's cut, with the most amazing muscles I think I've ever laid eyes on, and a small script-like tattoo inked on the inside of his right bicep that reads aeternus eternus. I can't bring myself to ask him what it means.

"What's up?" His head is tipped a bit to one side. He looks hopeful. "I was only teasing, you know. I don't care if you come in here without knocking."

"I uh..." I'm almost afraid to tell him that I remember the scent, because a part of me thinks it's only familiar because he wears it almost every day. I know that's not it though. Deep down, I know; this is the first time anything has ever felt like a memory with him, and I'm nervous to voice it for fear I'll get his hopes up that I'm close to remembering the rest. "It's just my first time being in here since I came back," I say honestly. "You're bed is really huge."

Wow. I'm awesome.

The bed he's sitting on used to be _our_ bed. I pull my eyes away and they get stuck on a large canvass hanging above the headboard. I nearly lose it, because I've never seen myself smile that widely. It's of the two of us, and my curls hang loosely around my shoulders as I tip my head back into Damon's chest. I've got a lit cigarette between my fingers at my hip, and I'm laughing. Heartily.

"I smoked?"

"Like a chimney," he laughs. "I used to, too. We'd go through at least two packs a day. You smoked up until the day of the accident."

"Gross," I frown. "I guess that's one good thing about losing my memory. I don't remember the withdrawals. You quit, too?"

"Yeah. Same time as you." I know what he means, so I hope he doesn't elaborate further. "I guess I started thinking about all the bad shit it was doing to my body. I stared at you, and you were helpless to do anything for yourself...so I knew I wanted to make some changes, starting with quitting cigs."

That's honorable, and sweet. "So why'd you pick _this_ picture to hang up here?"

"I couldn't have you in person, and this picture is about as close to the real you I knew. I mean look at you. You're gorgeous here," He says, nostalgia dripping from his lips as he waves toward the canvas. I wish this could go differently, for his sake. "I mean, you still are. I just love the way this photo shows the way your eyes light up when you laugh." He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and my insides crumple. He may be okay with the way things are right now, but he's still deeply in love with the way I used to be. That worries me.

Okay, I didn't come up here for this. I bite my lip and force my gaze back down to him and start off with something a little lighter.

"I didn't know you're sister went hunting with you this morning. I didn't even know you had a sister, let alone a twin, Damon. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure when you'd be ready for all that," he reaches for my hand and I let him take it. It's comforting, and I'm confident he's not going to push me for more. "She said she didn't have to come inside because she was worried about overwhelming you. It's just she's really excited you're back. You're going to meet everyone else on Thanksgiving and I thought it might be good to kind of break you in slowly, so you at least know one more person there."

"Speaking of introductions, I made a pretty big decision this morning and I haven't gotten to talk to you about it. I'm heartbroken that I can't remember, so I'm just going to stop trying. I'm willing to talk about our past, but only because it's our past, not because I'm trying to go back in time. I can't sit around and wait for my life to start back up, Damon."

He takes a deep breath, like he's going to beg me to reconsider, but let's it out without a word.

"I hated myself when I was seventeen,"

"I know," he frowns. "You weren't so keen on yourself when we first met, either."

His confession throws me off, but I press on. I'll revisit that sometime later because I deserve to know what I'm dealing with.

"I can't go back to feeling that way," he holds out his hand and shakes his head, but I know what he's getting ready to say. That I was happy before the accident. That he'd never let me be that said again. I get my words out quickly, before I lose my nerve.

"And yes, I realize a lot happened to me, and us, that I don't remember. I look happy in these pictures, and I want to feel that way again. But it'll never happen if I concentrate on how much time I lost. I can't, anymore."

"Okay," he says simply. I'm fully aware that he knows the way I felt about myself just before we met. I wonder how bad I let myself and how the hell I turned it all around.

"Okay? That's it? You're not going to tell me I'm silly to just give up trying to remember?"

I know in a way I'm saying I won't force myself to remember loving him, and it's got to hurt.

"No," he shrugs, then stands from his bed and swipes a folded towel from a pile sitting on his bed. He's starting to be too good to be true. I'm just waiting for this all to come crashing down. I wonder if the doctors prepared him for _this_ particular speech, too.

"Well what if I'm nothing like the way you remember me?"

"You are. Trust me. Whether you remember it or not, you'll always be my Elena." his tone suggests he's never said a more true statement in his life.

I stare at him, unable to move. He's so beautiful in just his unbuttoned camo pants. His muscled arms are stretched above him and he taps his hands on the top of the doorframe, like he's waiting for me to respond.

I can't. He offers me a devilish grin that says he knows he just affected me, then turns and closes the door behind him before turning on the shower.

I briefly debate whether or not I made a bad decision in asking we stay friends. He's gorgeous and completely committed to me, no matter what idea I seem to present him with. If I'm truly trying to move forward and make decisions solely on how I feel _now_ instead of what I would've done before, I know I have to take things slowly and keep him as a friend. A really, really sexy friend that I can stare at whenever I want. I just have to keep reminding my hormones of the plan, because lately it seems they have a mind of their own.

I take the plunge and plop down on his bed. Our bed. I stare backwards, upside down at the canvas on the wall behind me. I'm not sure what I think could happen. He's always quick in the shower and before I know it he'll be out here in a towel. I should probably go. No matter the label slapped on our relationship, I just feel better when he's around.

I'm still adjusting to the idea that he's all I have left. The doctors say it's best if I take things easy so I don't overwhelm myself. And I can, with most situations, but not the death of my parents. I catch myself zoning in and out, remembering things they used to say. When I was small, I naturally believed everything my mother said was right. As I grew, I began to wonder why she never seemed truly happy. Her brown eyes were big and beautiful, but when I really learned how to look, I could only see emptiness.

"_Only a fool marries for love alone; you'll see what I mean when you get older..."_she once said.

Do I think she loved my father? Yes, but not in that inseparable, heart-aches-when-I'm-not-with-him type of love. She supported him in everything he did...maybe that was the way she showed her affection. I wonder what it was like when they fell in love. They never really talked about it. I just knew they married when they were in their early twenties. Before they'd really seen the world, as my mother had once put it. As I think back, I don't recall ever walking in on them kissing or whispering. The kind of relationships I grew up around were anything but passionate. I briefly wonder if I'm capable of real love or if I, too, was systematic and practiced in my marriage.

I know I wouldn't be that way now.

Mom always had a way of seeing the sour side of things. She was well-spoken but arrogant, and often times more beautiful on the outside than in. She didn't leave the house without her dark red lipstick and a pair of heels, spending too many evenings downing bottles of red wine with her ladies' association rather than fixing me bedtime snacks.

My nanny, Josephine—Joey, for short—did all the important things, like making sure I brushed my teeth and packed my books for school in Kindergarten. The nights my father got home early, he'd press a kiss to my forehead. I always pretended to be asleep, afraid if I caught his eyes I might see something I didn't want to, like misery. Even as a small child I sensed my family was different.

My father was a surgeon, and he spent countless hours hunched over the operating table, dedicating his time to ensuring his patients got to see the sunrise the next day. I remember thinking how important his job was and how admirable it was that my daddy saved people. Deep down, though, it bothered me that he always seemed so far away. And I don't mean physically. Yes, he was gone a lot, but his hospital was just a few miles away. He'd work for hours, coming home only to sit and stare at a computer with dark circles under his eyes. Even when he _was_ home, it never really felt like he was there...especially not the way I needed him to be.

I was sent away to an out-of-state boarding school in first grade. My parents told me I'd get a better education than the public or private schools around our home. Maybe I did, but as the years progressed I realized a top-notch education wasn't the only reason they'd sent me away. Joey escorted me on my first plane ride to school, when I was only 6 years old. I remember clutching her hand and staring into her eyes as she told me she wouldn't let anything happen to me. She was always kind to me, and often listened to me when it seemed my parents didn't care to. It broke my heart the first time I came home from boarding school for thanksgiving break; I'd had to make the 3 hour flight alone, only to discover Joey had been dismissed and I was back to having no one.

I had a few friends over the years at school. Mostly roommates. But Sophie grew up to be a Grade A bitch and Mallory moved overseas when her father took a job in France. It wasn't easy for me to make connections. I was awkward and shy and my parents had instilled in me that I needed to watch every word I said, so as not to offend anyone or tarnish our family name. It was a lot of pressure for a young girl, probably more than I realized at the time. But as the years went on my emotions began stirring, like I'd been holding back for far too long.

I watched the other girls prance around campus like they had it all figured out, but I didn't envy them. They walked like my mother and talked like my father, and after awhile it became abundantly clear that I didn't want to be a thing like either one of them...like I'd inherited the deeply buried wild side of each of them, and a vibrant young woman was just dying to break free. I'm not sure if she ever did.

I guess it's been years since I've thought about all this. Everything Damon's told me so far makes me believe things didn't end well with my parents. I wonder what I did, and I wonder if _he_ has anything to do with it. I don't expect him to sit me down and explain it all in one shot. I don't think he could if he wanted to...at least thats the way it seems. I hope I wasn't so shallow that he could define me in a matter of hours.

I must be more exhausted than I'll admit, because I somehow managed to fall asleep in the short time he was in the shower. I probably could've slept for hours, and maybe I did, because I woke to a fully clothed Damon sitting next to me on the bed.

I jump, completely startled and unsure of where I am or what time it is. His smile calms me.

"It's okay. You should go back to sleep. I thought it was kind of weird that you were awake when I got back. You've been waking up really early lately. Kind of surprises me."

"I take it I wasn't much of morning person," I prop myself up on my elbows so my head lifts from his pillow.

"You slept like the dead," he blurts.

"Don't I know it," I say with a small smile. As far as I'm concerned, I was dead for those 4 years. I have to comment it on it now and then to show him I can accept it.

As soon as he says it, he's reeling his words back in. "Shit, Elena. I didn't mean it like that."

We're silent for a minute, but not because I'm angry. It's just one of those moments nothing can fix, and I'm thankful that I've decided to stop revisiting these feelings. I know, now more than ever, that I've made the right decision in trying to move forward.

"I tried your apple pie last night. It's awesome." He says. I'm happy for the change in subject. "I was thinking about reheating some to have with dinner Interested?" He wiggles his eyebrows in an adorable way.

"Very," I tuck my hair behind my ears and pull the warm blankets away from my body. The cool air hits me and I shiver.

"You haven't slept well since we've been home, have you?"

I swallow, then shake my head. His eyes are swimming with empathy. We must be magnetic, because his hand reaches for mine and he squeezes it gently. It's warm and wonderful, and I briefly picture myself falling asleep right here, like this, with him holding my hand.

"Tell you what. It's only 2 o'clock. You go back to sleep and I'll come get you when it's time."

I try to act like I'm not completely drained, but my yawns give me away. He smiles, then pulls the covers over me up to my shoulders. I catch his dark scent again and my heart flutters.

"I can go to my room," I suggest, but I don't mean it. I hope he lets me stay. It's warm and it's strange, but I somehow feel safe here.

"Don't you dare," he warns, but his voice is playful. "Besides, this is your room. You can sleep in it anytime you want."

I don't have time to call him out on his very non-friend comment; I'm headed back toward dreamland before he's out the door. His weight feels good pressing down on the mattress as he sits next to me. I don't feel so alone. He's staring at me, and for the briefest moment, it doesn't feel like the first time I've fallen asleep looking into his warm eyes.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Next up, Damon POV.


	4. She Is Love

**A/N: I managed to work on this chapter with taped fingers. It took a little longer to type, but it was worth it. I had so much fun with this one. **

**As promised, this is all Damon POV. I'm really having a good time switching back and forth.**

**I chose Parachute's "She Is Love" for this chapter. Thanks again for reading and all of the amazing feedback! **

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**Oblivion**

**Chapter 3: She Is Love**

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**Damon POV: **

_**Present Day...**_

A few years ago I would've never said this, but it's actually really good to be back at work. Focusing on something other than my relationship with Elena is nearly impossible when we're around each other every second of the day. Don't get me wrong. I love spending time with Elena; when I'm around her it's like I'll never get enough. And that's my problem. I'm trying really hard to respect her wishes and keep a friendly barrier up between us, but as the days go on, it's hard to ignore how amazing she is.

My choice of work surprised many of my relatives when I announced it, because it's not the suit and tie type of job that's usually tacked onto the end of the Salvatore name. I have no interest in sitting inside of a stuffy office all day in some high rise in downtown Milwaukee. The small town life suits me, and I'm happy with who I've become and the changes I've made in myself. I'm a lot more put together than I used to be. And if I can't do the one thing I always dreamed of doing, owning an auto repair shop is the next best thing.

I get here early almost every day, far before we open. I have a few mechanics on board that show up when the overhead door rolls up, but I'm the type of boss who walks around in a pair of coveralls and dives right into the job, too. It took me a long time to find something I love enough to make it my career, and I don't care what anyone has to say about it. Fixing cars is my outlet, and it's gotten through a lot of tough shit throughout the years. Like nearly losing my wife.

I hop up off the creeper and prop it up against the wall, wiping my forehead with my sleeve. It's 6 am and the shop's closed for the day since it's Thanksgiving. We're closed for the long weekend, which means I could've come in here anytime to straighten out some invoices and order my inventory, but I needed to get away and think for a bit before we head to Mom's in a few hours.

Everything's always a big ordeal on the holidays, and I'm nervous for Elena. Mom loves her like her own, and Harlow not only lost a sister-in-law, but a best friend when she went into the coma. My older brother Ric was attending grad school at Oxford and never got the chance to meet her, but he's been back for two years now. He won't be meeting the same woman he would've back then, but I'm still excited nonetheless, because Ric's the closest thing I've had to a father since my Dad passed away when I was 20. We're only 6 years apart, but he's someone I can depend on to tell me the truth, even when it's not something I want to hear.

And I know they forgive me for not being around for awhile, but I'm still haunted by how I took them for granted for far too long as I was off searching for myself. I didn't have a rough childhood. I was loved immensely by both parents and got along fine with my siblings. Everything was going great until my Dad died and I lost it. Lost myself. I have my wife to thank for bringing me back to the land of the living; a favor I hope I can do for her in return.

Even now, as I rolled out from the underbelly of this beautiful classic car, my head's all wrapped up in Elena. I don't know why I'm surprised because this car belonged to her. My young Elena drove a 1969 tuxedo black GM Corvette with curves almost as sexy as hers, and worn vinyl seats. She loved that thing so much she named it. I'm hard just thinking about the way she looked sitting on top of it. If I didn't love her the first time I met her, I know I loved her then.

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_**Five Years Ago...**_

My adrenaline's on overdrive as I slam the door of my car carrier. I just had the race of my life. Seriously. I can't think of a better feeling in the world than curving around those turns at shit-enducing speeds. It's a natural high, and I'm completely addicted.

"That race was sick. So awesome. Can you sign my program?" There's a young kid behind me, probably around 10, and I'm stuck by the admiration in his eyes. I wipe my hands on my jeans and hold one out to him, thanking him for watching. It's when he lights up like a Christmas tree that it hits me; I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing, and it doesn't matter what anyone has to say about it.

"Thanks, man," I smile and scribble my name down in thick black marker. I'm honored, because it's not like I'm famous or anything. I'm just a kid myself who decided he loved amateur car racing more than school or anything else in the world. Enough to drop out of college my junior year and move to California, where it's warm all the time and I don't have to put my car away for eight months out of the year. Enough to leave my family in the wake of having just lost my father. The general consensus is that I care about myself more than anyone else, and maybe they're right. I just can't go back right now.

A month ago I dragged my buddy out here for a music festival and met the coolest, most beautiful girl I've ever known. We spent one unforgettable day together and when it was through, I carried her through the muddy fields into my brand new green pickup truck and drove her back to her dorm at Stanford. She never did find her phone, so I worried my efforts to get her number were for nothing. I knew once I went back to Wisconsin I'd never see her again and for some reason, the thought made my stomach ache. We barely knew each other, but I felt a bigger connection with her than I have with anyone.

_"You should come back here later," she said, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. "Everyone's staying overnight at the festival grounds. We could have our own little party."_

And shit, did I want to have an Elena-party. She's like this perfect mix of heaven and hell pent up in this tiny little body that fits perfectly in my hands. I've never wanted anything more, so I agreed to head back to the grounds, grab some my stuff, and be back within a few hours.

I was on top of the world...and then my mom called me that night to tell me my father died.

I couldn't even come up with anything to say. I just felt numb. I went home for the funeral and tried sticking around for awhile. I continued to go to the University of Wisconsin in Madison, just as my father and brother had before me. And it was fine at first. I felt like if I kept myself busy with school I wouldn't think about my father's death. It's not like it was my fault or anything; cancer comes when you least expect it. I just feel guilty for staying purposely busy all the months he was going through chemo. It was easier to put everything off until the next day, until it never came. Being around those who _did_ support him through his battle only makes me realize I'm a complete asshole.

But the numbness didn't wear off, even a month later. I craved a connection to something, _someone_, and it brought me back to California. We have no history or anything at all, but walking away from something as good as this—as Elena—felt like a whole new type of tragedy.

So I didn't.

I know. It sounds reckless and completely irresponsible to just give up everything...and it is. She's a big part of it, but I'm not just out here for the girl. I haven't even seen her since that day. I've been busy racing, trying to make a name for myself on the track like I wasn't able to back home. I love my mother to death, but she's overprotective and doesn't like me racing. I'm sure it has something to do with the danger because when she pleads with me to quit, her eyes are full of the type of tears cried only by a woman who knows great loss. I should understand, but I don't, and it's one of the reasons I decided to stay away. Still, telling my family over the phone that I won't be coming home or going back to school didn't go over well. We're at a bit of a standstill right now.

I'm not as much of a mess as I should be. I have a decent bank account with enough money to put myself up in a little studio apartment and stock with my refrigerator with necessities – milk, cheese and beer. I've been racing since I was about 18, mostly just with buddies' cars, but kept pretty quiet about it. My Dad was the only one who knew. He was the one who made me fall in love with it to begin with. He'd take me to races down at the tracks as soon as I could stand. It's not like this is out of the blue; my eyes have always been set on that finish line.

My mother will kill me when she finds out, but I used a portion of my inheritance to buy my race car. It's not like I won't have plenty left over to use when I need it. My car's pretty basic right now. It's not like I have sponsors or anything. I've just been doing races when and where I can, entering as many as possible to get myself noticed. My dad always told me to do the things that made me happy, and right now, this is about it. I know it seems like I'm turning my back on my family and ignoring them at a time when we should be glued together and mourning my father, but I'm not like the rest of them. I can't just mourn. I have to find a way to live.

My heart stops when I see her. If there was ever a doubt that I was meant to stay in California, it is long forgotten. I'm either delirious or the luckiest guy on the planet, because Elena Gilbert's sitting on the trunk of a classic car, smoking a cigarette and smirking at me.

"Damon Salvatore. Nice race. You hugged those curves almost as tight as you hugged mine," she takes a drag from her smoke and blows it out with a smile. What I'd give to be that cigarette.

Her playfulness draws me in like a magnet. I can't help but want to be near her.

"Sweet Corvette. Is it yours?" I ask. Our previous meeting didn't lend much need to discuss cars. I would've pegged her a Audi kind of girl.

"Yeah," she slides her hand along it lovingly. "This is Sparrow. She's a '69 and practically in mint condition." This new tidbit of info adds a whole new layer of sexiness to her. Nothing hotter than a woman who knows what she's talking about. "Or she was until I got my hands on her a few months back at an auction."

Her long, thin legs are bent at the knee and her leather boots rest on the the silver edge of the bumper. She's got on a pair of dark jeans with strategically placed rips in the knees and a teal shirt that hangs loosely off her shoulders and comes to a V at the bottom, revealing the tanned skin of her hips on each side.

Her lips are painted red and it hasn't been long enough for me to forget the way they felt against mine. She looks like sin...far, far from the little stoned, fallen angel I saw stomping around in that muddy grass. _Where are the pearls now?_ I wonder, followed by_ What the hell is she doing at my race?_

I'd be lying if I said our little excursion at the concert was innocent. While I managed to keep her away from Ryan's stash of pot, she saw quite a few bottoms of beer bottles that day. I'm too decent of a guy to try to get in her pants when we're both wasted, but I'm well aware of how soft her skin is and the way her hair smells like cinnamon and vanilla. And the way I want to surround myself with nothing but her sweetness.

"Sparrow," I repeat, walking up to her. "Pretty good name for an awesome car."

She lets her feet touch the pavement and leans her ass up against the trunk. She's like a pinup, and I wish I had my own personal poster of this very thing to hang up on my wall. I may have morals but I'm still a guy.

"You were good out there," she says. Her voice is a bit raspy from her love affair with nicotine, and she puts her cigarette out and steps on it until the cherry goes out. I always hoped I'd find a way to see her again, this is just a lot different than I'd pictured.

"Thank you," I smile so wide it hurts. I'm a fool and I don't care; she complimented me. I can picture her in the stands now, cupping those warm hands around her perfect mouth and screaming my name. God, that's hot. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't," she shrugs. "Avery's boyfriend's big into racing, and I didn't have anything else going on. We come out here a lot."

"Still hanging out with her, huh?" I tease. "Even though she ditched you?"

"She's my roommate, Damon," she laughs. "I couldn't avoid her if I tried. But I don't, because I love her like crazy."

Thank god for Avery; if it weren't for her I'd never have met my little vixen in the first place.

I've been working up the courage to try her number, hoping she'd gotten a new cell but kept the same line. I just hadn't figured out a way to tell her why I didn't come back to her dorm that night.

"What are you doing back in California, anyway?"

"Just doing some racing and escaping some bad shit back home. Prettier here, anyway," I add, keeping my eyes trained on hers because I want her to know I'm not talking about the scenery. I worry it'll sound like I'm stalking her if I mention liking being closer to her after only one day together. It's not like that at all. I have no bad intentions when it comes to Elena, except maybe a little uninhibited sex.

"Planning on sticking around this time?" I can't answer for sure, because the truth is, I don't know. If my racing goes the way I want it to and I find sponsors, I could be hitting the road sooner than later. All I know is I need to be right here, right now. And until something snags my attention more than this woman before me, I'm all hers. If she'll have me.

I step closer, until I'm near enough to see that her cheeks are pink. I smile, hoping I put that color in her skin. Hoping she's been thinking of me as much as I've been thinking of her. I run my hand over my short hair and try to come up with the least depressing way to tell her what's been going on with me.

"I'm sorry for standing you up last month. I kind of had some family stuff come up and had to rush home. I couldn't call you since you lost your phone. It sounds like a bad excuse, but it's not. Trust me. I'd much rather have hung out with you than what I ended up doing."

I'll tell her eventually, but right now I just want to keep going with this natural buzz.

She shrugs and seems to instantly believe me, and I'm thankful for it. I'm not into putting a lot of effort into things, especially women. This is new territory for me, and I hope I don't seem too eager.

"It's cool. I partied by myself," she teases. Jesus, what does that even mean? My head fills with a thousand different images, most of which involve Elena naked.

I need a beer. She's flirting with me, and the playful connection we shared that day is still humming between us. "How about you be the one to ditch out on _her_ this time and come hang out with me. I've got some errands to do and could use some company. You up for showing a guy how to properly grocery shop? Been living on peanut butter and jelly for two weeks."

She smiles and loops her arm through mine. I like that she's so relaxed around me. I love that she seems game for whatever I throw at her. She seems like the type that would go for just about anything without giving it much consideration, just to taste a tiny bite of freedom.

"And what happens after the grocery store?" She arches an eyebrow. "You going to take me out on the track?"

"Sure, Lena. I'll take you anywhere you want," I smile, because I mean it. I can't imagine ever getting sick of being near her. "Just say the word and it's yours."

She stops suddenly gives me and gives me a look that I'll never forget. It's not playful like it has been before. It's affectionate and hopeful, as if I'm granting her a wish she'd never even asked for. I don't know what I said, but she's on her tiptoes kissing me right here in the middle of the track's parking lot. I drop my keys and wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer to me.

She tastes like raspberries and cream as her lips mesh with mine. This feeling of great peace washes over me an I know I'm right to have wanted her so badly. When she pulls away, she looks at me tenderly and says,

"Thank you, Damon. No one's ever done that before," she tells me. I must frown, because she continues to explain. "Called me by a nickname."

I don't know many details, but I know where this is coming from. Her childhood has her starving for attention. Affection. She was lit when she told me before, but it boils down to daddy issues. And mommy issues. She's a rebel against everything she had to put up with for years growing up. I have no idea what it's like to feel like that, and I'm pissed that it was the hand life dealt her.

To know I've given her even a sliver of happiness thrills me. I'm thankful and relieved that it's me who's found her; there are guys in the world who would take advantage of her vulnerability. I'm not one of them.

I can feel it; this is the beginning of something between us. Something real. Something fun and completely unexpected. I came out to California to find myself, but I'd be just fine losing myself in her.

* * *

_**Present Day...**_

My shop is just a few miles away from our house. I'm back home and killing the ignition by 7. I haven't driven her for years, but Sparrow still hums like the first time I got behind the wheel. I took her down for a tune-up and oil change because I only keep the best stuff stocked in my shop. And a car like Sparrow deserves the best.

I've been keeping her covered inside our garage since Elena's accident. I rode in the ambulance with her, but after weeks in the hospital when the doctors said she hadn't made progress, I knew I had to drive the car home. I made the trip home all the way from her childhood home in Wyoming, and haven't even take a look at her since. Until this morning, when I impulsively decided we'd be driving her to Mom's for Thanksgiving today.

The pickup would be much better in this type of weather, but I've got this idea in my head and I just can't drop it.

Elena's car is far cooler than mine. She wouldn't have minded if I'd been using her all this time. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Every single thing about the car reminded me of Elena and the possibility that she may never drive it again. Her scent is long gone now, but if I close my eyes, I can still imagine the way she used to roll the windows down and stick her arm out into the cool breeze. I don't think I really got it then, but I do now. Until we met, that car was the one thing she had that really loved her back.

I'm pulling out all the stops, because I have to. Sometimes it feels like she'll just be lost forever. She had an intense passion for this car before she even knew me. I'm hoping this will spark something. Friend-Elena is a little too tempting and I'm starting to wear down.

I'm surprised to see every light on in the house when I reach the front porch. It's not _that_ early, but she looked really snuggled into my fuzzy blankets when I left at 4 this morning. Yes. My blankets. She's been sleeping in my bed for the last few days. And no, I'm not staying in there with her. I just so happen to have to creep in there to get my clothes every morning. I can't help but smile when I see her in nestled in my sheets; she may not realize it, but she sleeps exactly the way she used to. One bare leg hanging out of the covers. It's things like this that make me believe she's not completely gone.

I offered to take the guest room and let her have the master when I noticed the dark circles disappearing from under her eyes. And I don't mind; it's really nice to think of her finding some sort of comfort from our bed. She's been sleeping through the night since we traded. Trust me when I say she's a whole different person with a full night of sleep under her belt.

Case and point, this morning. I open the front door and am blasted with music pumping so loudly, it's carrying throughout the house. I shouldn't recognize it because it's country, and that stuff isn't typically allowed on my stereo, but I've heard the song in my dreams countless times over the last four years. Dolly Parton's _Jolene._

I'm cemented to the ground, unable to move. Unable to breathe or think or think about breathing. She's swaying her hips, dancing around the kitchen completely unaware I'm even home. She's got a mixing bowl in her hands and she's stirring something as she twirls around the kitchen belting out the song. I'd be silenced just by watching her move this way, but my shock has nothing to do with the way her ass looks in that pair of jeans and the string of an apron.

I'm awestruck, because _this_ is a memory, even if she's not aware of it.

The first time she heard it we were at a concert in a small venue in Chicago. The band playing was rock, but kicked out this amazing cover of the song. I can't forget the way her eyes lit up when it came on. She fell in love with it instantly, and it was catchy enough she was able to sing the chorus on the ride back home. Soon after she found a vinyl copy of the original Dolly Parton version and must've played it hundreds of times the year we were together.

She's belting the lyrics, just like she used to, and I think I could watch this forever. By the second time the chorus comes around she's peeked into the oven quickly before dancing back toward the refrigerator. I've been standing in the doorway for about thirty seconds now, and when she closes the fridge door she immediately stops singing. Her eyes go wide and her cheeks turn a pretty shade of scarlet.

"Damon!" She drops the bowl she'd been mixing and buries her face in her hands.

"What?" I smile, unfolding my arms and stepping closely to her. I touch her wrists slightly and pull them down gently away from her face. She's beet red and mortified, but I can't help but chuckle at the adorable dusting of flour on each of her cheeks.

"Don't be embarrassed. I love your voice. It's beautiful."

She avoids commenting by squatting down to tend to the mess of batter that's hit the floor. I can tell she's genuinely embarrassed, but I drop down to my knees and help her wipe it up. The song is long over and she's still scrubbing the kitchen tiles with a washcloth.

"Elena..." I swallow. I'm nervous to tell her, because I think she's completely clueless about what just happened. "You just remembered something. That song, baby. Jolene. You loved that song. You used to sing it all the time."

She stops scrubbing and looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and pretty, but I'm not sold that she remembers how she knows the music. The wind is momentarily knocked from my sails, but the more I think about it, I'm okay. It's something. It's not like I thought she'd suddenly remember us just because she remembered a catchy song.

"I didn't realize. But that's good, I guess," a piece of hair falls in her eyes and she blows it away, wiping under her eyes again with the flour covered hand. Her smile tells me she's happy about the progress, even if she doesn't say more on the subject. I know she's trying very hard not to get my hopes up. I wonder if she's keeping anything from me.

She runs her hands under the faucet and we're quickly onto other things. Like the way my house smells like a donut shop exploded. Her hair is tied up in a long messy ponytail and the front of her apron says **FUTURE NASCAR WIFE.**

She sort of knows the story on that. I let her know right away that I used to race. My car's still out back in the carrier waiting. Maybe someday I'll get the courage to get inside it again. For now, it's a token from a time when life was a whole lot crazier.

She grabs the stereo remote from the table and turns down the music. Thank God. I'm thankful for _Jolene, _but forget all the rest of it. It's bumping like a country line dance bar in here.

I'm just now noticing the spread of baked goods lined up on the counter. Good God. It smells awesome in here. I quickly eye blueberry muffins on the cooling rack and walk over to reach for one. It's hot and crumbly and before I can get it to my mouth, Elena's hand it tearing it away.

"Hey Grabby. Those aren't for right now," she sticks out her tongue and I laugh. "They're cooling so I can pack them up to take to your Mom's. You can have one in a few hours. With the rest of us."

"It's one muffin," I reach for it from her hand again but she sets it back on the rack. "Who will even know?"

_"_It's one of eight muffins, and everyone will notice when there's an uneven amount," she explains like I should already understand. What the hell do I know? I'm just a hungry man surrounded by a bunch of things I'm not allowed to eat. "But go ahead and eat it now. You've already touched it."

"Well what's all the rest of this then? Is that off limits, too?" I ask smiling as I roam along the counter top. She had to have gotten up shortly after I left to have made all of this today. There's pumpkin pie and homemade wheat bread and cinnamon apple crumb cake. It's a gluten paradise up in here.

"I couldn't decide what to make. Any of it would work to bring, but I think the muffins turned out best. Do you think your Mom will like them? No one's allergic to blueberries are they?"

I'm a few seconds behind, still trying to process the words that just spewed from her mouth in record time. My brow knits and a smile finds a way on my lips. If she stress bakes, I'm okay with it. I could so get used to this.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Oh God. No one's allergic, are they?" She repeats.

"I'm sorry. You lost me at I couldn't decide what to make. The muffins are perfect. Everything's perfect and everything's going to be fine. Bring whatever you want, hell, bring pack all of it up if you want, but Mom isn't expecting us to bring anything. She's just happy we're coming."

"I know that, but we should, don't you think? I mean, I want to make a good impression," she takes a sip of her coffee. "And before you say anything, I know they already know me...but I don't know them, Damon. And I want them to like me. _Me_," she emphasizes. "This Thanksgiving is nothing like the last one we all shared together, like I saw in the picture. I don't remember having a family that loved me the way you say they do. It's important for me to make good memories now."

"Okay," I say between bites of my muffin. It's like my woman took baking lessons in her sleep or something. I've never tasted a more delicious muffin. These give Mom's baked goods a run for their money. Yes, baby. Stress-bake you're sweet little heart out. Now that she remembered the whole don't-touch-the-racks-without-a-oven-mitt bit, we've been eating more home cooked meals than fast food.

"I need to wash up and change before we go," she turns of the oven off and unties her apron, hanging it on a hook against the far wall. "Do you have all your stuff packed?"

I grew up about four-and-a-half hours Northwest from here, in a fairytale like place called Eagle River. It's that image you get in your head when you think of Wisconsin, all tall trees and quaint little cabins dotted around the many lakes. In the summer, there's no better place in the world to fish.

It's winter in Wisconsin, and that means snow's almost always in the forecast. If the weather guys are wrong and we're hit with a storm, there's no way we'd be making it back home tonight. Mom suggested we pack a few changes of clothes just in case. I think she's secretly praying we have to stay.

"Yeah, I'm all set. I just need a minute in the shower too. Gotta wash off the grease from work. It'll be a long drive, so I'll put on another pot of coffee and load up the travel mugs when I'm done."

Her eyes widen with gratefulness and she pulls the tie out of her hair and shakes out her curls. She feels like heaven under the hot spray of water, and I'll be lucky if I survive my shower thinking of her on the other side of the wall, doing the same thing as me.

"I'll be ready in like twenty minutes," she says before closing my bedroom door. "And Damon...I set your clothes out on the guestroom bed so you don't have to come in here to get them. I'm on to you, you know," she winks and I hear the door click behind her. I'm not two steps away when I hear her beautiful voice wrapping around the words of _Jolene_ again.

_"You could have your choice of men, But I could never love again..." _

If this is the only memory she gets back for weeks, it'll be enough. It's a slow burn and it hurts so good.


	5. Things Are Better

**A/N: Only a few more days on the finger splint and then I'll just be taped. Anxiously awaiting it, as I'll finally get to sit down for longer periods of time and work on chapters. **

**Back to Elena POV for this chapter. And yes, I promise, Thanksgiving does start this chapter. :) I chose Tyler Lyle's "Things Are Better" for this chapter. Thanks for reading and all the great feedback. I really appreciate it. **

* * *

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 4: Things Are Better**

* * *

**Elena POV**

_**Present Day...**_

"No way, baby. Fuck that. We're not calling a tow truck. It's only a little snow!" Damon yells from behind the car. _Right. Only little a snow._ We've only been trying to push ourselves out of a two-foot snowbank for the last twenty minutes. _No big deal, right?_

I don't get it. He'd rather be knee-deep in dirty snow and ice than have to depend on someone to get us out. I'm not sure what he's trying to prove because I've never doubted his abilities. I _am_ starting to doubt his common sense, though.

"Just give me another minute to try clear the tires and we'll give her another go," he assures me. t's only been a month but this game is so familiar, so I roll my eyes like any wife would when her husband goes all caveman.

We've been on the road for almost four hours, and according to my dear husband, we're only half an hour away from his Mom's house. We'd practically be there by now if we'd just call for help.

I wonder what the hell he was thinking taking this route. There has to be an alternative, because we're literally in the middle of nowhere. We're surrounded by a hundreds of tall pine trees. They're beautiful, especially covered in snow, but I'd appreciate them even more from inside the comfort of a toasty warm house with a belly full of turkey and cranberry sauce.

It can't be much warmer than 25 degrees. My knees bounce in place in an attempt to keep the rest of me warm. I wrap my arms around my middle and press my head to the top of the steering wheel. I'm no wimp; it's really fucking cold. The only way this could be any worse if if the car battery decided to die. It's official; the universe is frowning on us today.

"Okay, 'Lena. Try her again!" He calls out to me. I'm in the driver's seat and the window's rolled down so I can hear him. I press the gas pedal flat to the ground and crank the wheel in the direction he suggests but it's just no use. The tires spin beneath me and the backend fishtails from Damon's efforts, but we don't move forward. Not even an inch.

"Did you push it all the way, Elena? I mean, you really need to floor it."

"Yes, Damon. If I pushed any harder my foot would go through the floor..." My voice is raspy and laced with sarcasm. I bite my tongue before I say something that will make me sound like a Debbie Downer.

I appreciate him trying. I really, really do. But I'm about to go off on him. I told him we should've brought the pickup truck instead. I'm pretty sure it could've handled this amount of snow a whole hell of a lot better than my little car. My frustration subsides when I peer into the rearview mirror and meet his eyes. I focus on how cold he looks—his frozen, red ears below his red baseball cap. Watery eyes from the nasty wind. He's miserable and I want to get him warm before he gets sick. He lets out a string of cuss words and I realize what I need to do.

I go ahead and make the decision he won't. I grab his phone from the dashboard and scroll through his contacts until I find his brother, because I'm not above asking for help.

The conversation is a little awkward because we've never actually met, but I'm glad I called. He said he should be here in under an hour with a shovel to help dig us out. Damon can be pissed at me all he wants. I'll deal with that later.

Satisfied that I made the right decision, I climb out of the car and make my way to him. He stops kicking the snow around and looks up, frowning.

"What are you doing? Get back inside! I'll have us out in a minute. There's no sense in both of us freezing." He breathes hot air into his hands, then rubs them together.

My feet slide on the ice beneath me. My knee-high leather boots weren't meant to be worn in this amount of snow. It's time I start thinking more practically about my fashion choices; I just saw the way Damon's eyes lit up the last time I put these on and decided I wouldn't mind seeing that look again. And yes, I do realize I'm torturing both of us.

"Enough with the caveman routine, Damon. Get back in the car. You're being ridiculous."

My feet start moving in this woman-scorned stomp toward him. Just when I think I'm in the clear my feet come up from under me. I reach out for Damon to stop myself from hitting the ground but I'm just not quick enough. My hand doesn't quite reach his shoulder in time and I start to go down. My right ankle rolls and I cry out, but Damon's arms are around me before I crash into the snow. I focus on him instead of my pain and instantly feel better.

"Fuck, baby. I told you to get back in the car. Are you okay?!" He sounds flat out worried.

I don't know about my ankle, but the rest of me is feeling mighty fine all wrapped up in his arms. I slip my hands around the back of his neck before trying to put weight on my ankle. It hurts, but I don't think it's sprained. His hands slide down my arms and hold my elbows to steady me. I'm in okay enough shape to realize just how damn good it feels to be this close to him. Just how warm his breath is as it comes out in puffs so close they touch my lips.

I swallow and prepare myself to ruin the moment. I have to tell him.

"I called your brother. He'll be here with a shovel in under an hour," I try to keep my voice strong to let him know I'm confident I made the right decision and that I'm not sorry about it. This was a disagreement I couldn't let him win. I'm waiting for angry eyes or a bit of a scolding but it never comes. Instead, he laughs.

I feel a range of emotions roll through me. Frustration, then relief. Confusion, and even though it makes no sense, contentment. I can't stay angry with him for too long because he's just so genuine. One look and I forget I was pissed in the first place.

"What's so funny?" I'd put my hand on my hips if I didn't think I'd fall on my ass. "I expected you to blow a gasket when I told you. Shit, if I knew you'd be fine with it I would've called him before you even got out of the car."

He continues laughing in this real, gut-aching way. He presses his hand into his stomach and throws is head back and up toward the snowy sky before he looks at me again. When he does, his eyes shine with laughter tears.

"You're amazing," he manages. "The whole ride in you're biting your nails, saying how nervous you are. I piss you off and all that's out the window. You know what I think?" He pauses. "I think you don't like being told no. You're as stubborn as I am. Maybe worse."

I raise my eyebrows and wait. "And you know what else? You're all kinds of sexy when you're irritated. I'm tucking this little memory in my back pocket for later."

"Well what? You'd be content standing out here all day if no one ever drove past and offered to help, and that's crazy," I tell him seriously. "Your family is waiting on us to eat."

He sighs and gives me a look that tells me I was right, then scoops me up in his arms and carries me back to the car. It's freezing out, but his body is solid and warm. I notice its absence the moment he sets me down in the passenger seat. I press my head back into the headrest and squeeze my eyes closed. It's not nearly warm enough in here. I'm glad we only have to wait a little bit longer.

"I know," his voice holds apology as he grabs a fleece blanket from under his seat and spreads it across us. "I'm sorry. Trust me, this isn't the first time I've apologized to you for being stubborn, and I'm sure won't be the last."

He tugs off his wet gloves and shoves them into his coat pocket. His hands sneak under the blanket and tugs his half up to his shoulders. He'd never admit it, but he's freezing, too. Our thermos of coffee ran dry about an hour ago, and the heater in the car can only do so much.

It's not his fault we slid off the road. A deer ran out just a few feet ahead of us; if we didn't swerve we would've hit it, and from what Damon says, the snowbank was the much better choice. I've spent enough time in the hospital.

I turn my head to the side and stare at him. His cheeks are still red and the snow on the bill of his baseball cap begins to melt and slide down his cheek. I reach a hand out from the blanket to wipe his cheek and my fingernails scrape his stubble. It's rough in the best way. He turns to look at me and tiny goosebumps prickle up on my skin. When he lets out a sound of pure satisfaction, I shiver. This time it's not from the cold.

I know. Just days I go I told him we should just be friends. I did mean it. We're in a pretty good place in our relationship and I'm scared to mess anything up.

But My. God.

If he looked at me like that when we were younger, it's no wonder I married him. My skin tingles wherever he touches me, and I know that's not a normal feeling between friends. My body sizzles from his appraisal of me. I can only imagine what it's like when he doesn't have to hold back.

It's so tiny in this car. There's a gearshift between us and it's uncomfortable to reach across for too long, but I don't want to pull my hand away. When I finally try, he reaches under the blanket for my free one and he squeezes it tightly.

"You're shaking. You may not remember this, but I run hot as an oven. Come on. I'll behave," he turns so his back is pressed against his door and spreads his legs to create an opening. For me. His coat is unzipped and my eyes flick down to his dark jeans. Heat floods my cheeks because it all looks warm and inviting. I think on it for just a moment before climbing over to him and resting my back against his warm chest.

I lean my head back into the crook of his neck and close my eyes. I'm surrounded by that familiar scent and it's doing wonderful things to heat my system. After I'm settled in, he leans down close to my ear and says, "I promise not to bite until you tell me to."

Is he trying to kill me? This man is at an unfair advantage; he knows me intimately. What makes me purr and tick and from the looks of it, not much has changed.

I don't move or say a thing because I can't trust my voice not to break from the sheer sensuality of that thought. I briefly wonder about the things we used to do, and how it would feel it f we were pressed together this way with far fewer pieces of clothing. Say...in our bed.

My heart rate spikes and I know he can probably feel my pulse thumping in my neck since we're practically stuck together. He draws the blanket up over us and pulls me closer to him until I'm sure there's no space between us at all. When his hands come to rest on my thighs, I realize I'm not the only one on overdrive. His heart thuds wildly against my shoulder blades. I won't try to convince myself that it's just his body trying to warm up.

I remind myself that we're only trying to keep warm.

While I've given him the friends speech more than one time since we left the hospital, I don't think he really buys it. I'm pretty sure he's just waiting for it to all click into place and for me to remember this awesome, hot thing we had going on. And I still don't remember a thing about it...but I don't need memories to tell me how good he feels. These are fresh feelings, born purely from this moment, and I'm going to let myself enjoy it until Ric pulls up and digs us out of our little nest.

I let my shoulders relax against him and slip my hands between his grip and my thighs, threading my fingers with his.

"How's the ankle?" He asks near my ear again. He shifts his hand so it's under my thigh and draws my leg up toward us so he can remove my boot. I move the blanket slightly and roll up the bottom of my jeans so he can take a better look. I know he's not a doctor, but he's Damon; everything else he's ever done for me has made me feel a million times better. I know this will be no different...and for once, I'm really enjoying the attention.

I turn it a few times without cringing, and after he rubs the pad of his thumb around my ankle bone a few times, he decides it's not swelling but that I should put some snow on it anyway. He sits forward to support us, then opens his door and scoops up a fresh handful of snow from the ground and presses it to my skin. Instead of letting my leg fall back down, he pulls my other leg up and squeezes it tightly against me, insisting it'll help us stay warm. Personally, I think he just likes feeling up my legs, but I won't call him out on it. Who knows when I'll have the courage to do this again.

"You warming up?" He asks and I nod.

He's got his nose buried in my hair. He hasn't said anything in awhile and I can't be certain, but I think he's been pressing tiny kisses to the back of my head. I'm too cold to protest, and it'd only be half-hearted right now anyway. I wonder if his head is half as twisted up about this as mine. I don't want to hurt him or lead him on. He just feels so good.

"Now that the novelty has worn off, I hope you're not angry that I called Ric. I was starting to think we'd be spending my first Thanksgiving in four years in our Corvette, gorging on chips, blueberry muffins and a 2 Liter of Diet Pepsi."

"Sounds like something we used to do," I can feel his lips turn up into a smile against the side of my neck. He runs his nose along the length of it and I shiver once more. Jesus, I could get used to this. I wonder how awkward things will be once we're in a warm house and don't have a reason or excuse to constantly touch.

I wonder if I'll want to touch him anyway. I think my common sense is freezing over

"What did we used to do? Live out of our car?"

"Kind of. For awhile," he swallows. "If not our car, then a bunch of cheap hotels." There's a fondness in his voice that I just can't understand. The whole thing sounds horrible to me. "We were on the road a lot. City to city. Track to track..." He rests his chin on my shoulder and tips his head so it's pressed against mine. "We didn't stay in one place for very long at all. I knew I'd met my match in you when you looked and me and said, '_The road feels more like to home to me than any house ever has...' _We didn't have a care in the world, except for each other.

"You don't remember this car, do you?" He asks. I answer carefully but honestly, because he's holding his breath as if what I say could make or break this entire moment.

"I'm sorry. I don't," I bite my lip. "But it's a really beautiful car. I love it. I just don't love that we're driving it today," I smile. "I'm not so reckless anymore, I guess. From the sounds of it, this would've been pretty normal back then."

He nods against me. "Oh yeah. It was you, me and this Corvette. We had the pickup, too, so we could haul my race car around, but once I started doing more competitions, I had guys to drive that around when I needed," he explains, pushing a few strands of hair away from my neck.

My chest aches from this tiny bit of information. I try to picture us crammed into this tiny car with all of our belongings, but I can't. The life he's explaining seems rough and irresponsible. Completely opposite of the life he's been giving me now. I wonder what changed. He won't tell me what made him give up racing but I'm sure I'll find out one day. Right now I'm still processing the whole living-in-our-car thing. I mean, I had money we could've used. Why the hell didn't we use it?

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but even now when I think back to it, it'll always be one of the happiest times in my life. Before I met you, I was looking for a way to live. To not feel numb. And Jesus, we hit a lot of bumps in the road on the way, but I'd hit them all again if I had to. Hell, I'd hit them twenty times harder just to be right here with you again."

I turn and he's looking at me like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him. I can feel the love radiating off him; it's coming in big, heady waves and I close my eyes to bask in it. I feel selfish, because I don't want to lead him on. Right now, I'm not. Right now, I feel amazing. I try to ask myself if I'm just attention starved or if my hormones are overheating, but it feels like something else.

I do know his lips are pressed to my forehead and I'm ready to die. His fingers tuck my hair behind my ears and his blue eyes sparkle. And Jesus. He says something I'm positive I'll remember for the rest of my life.

"Thank you for waking up, Elena."

It's enough to make a stream of tears slide down my cheeks. In the month I've been awake, he's been careful not too reach too deep or pressure me. There's something about now that feels okay. We're close and it's intimate, but not sexual. He's holding onto me for dear life, like he knows at any second I could pull away and tell him not to touch me.

But I won't. I can't. His eyes keep roaming down to my lips, like he's starved for me. It would be so selfish of me to let hm kiss me just because I'm completely into it right now. Especially since I've warned him off so much these weeks. I'm sure I broke his heart enough while I was gone for four years. What if I kiss him and regret it afterward? I can't ruin Thanksgiving. I can't ruin this good thing we've had going. I can't ruin...

I can't worry about what I could ruin, because it's too late. I didn't move away when his lips brushed across my cheek. I didn't tell him to stop when they grazed the corner of my mouth. I think I moved closer, so it's probably completely my fault that his teeth are now sinking into my lower lip gently, pulling me into his mouth in a way that's both sweet and hot.

He tightens his grip on my hips and urges me to twist in the seat as he realigns his back so he's facing the windshield. He's worked his way up the bottom of my shirt to dig his fingers into the bare skin of my waist. My body cooperates without complaint; I can't even think of what's going to happen. I only feel his warm breath on my lips when he whispers my name like it's a holy word. Only memorize the feel of his stubble scratching my skin as he finally seals his lips on mine for the first time in four years. For the first time ever...for me.

I wonder if my heart skipped like this during our real first time.

He pulls me down against him and I slide my legs on either side of his hips. He comes up to kiss me hard on the mouth again and I bump against the horn. He smiles against my mouth and scoots me closer to him so it doesn't happen again.

I'll admit it; I don't know what I'm doing with him. His longing gazes had me blushing because he's the type of man who tells a woman what he wants with just a look. I'm sure as hell glad my body seems to know the drill, because I can tell he likes kissing me a certain way. I must be doing okay, because the sounds he's making are driving me insane.

It dawns on me that I may have lost my virginity to him four years ago and I don't even remember it. I can't ask him right now. I'm not sure I'm ready to know yet. I dream up all the things we may have done in this car and all the things we might be doing right now, if Ric wasn't going to be here in just a few minutes. Nails and teeth and sweat. I don't remember being this way with him before, but I'm riled up picturing us right now.

Right. Ric. Why did I call him, again?

My fingers wind in his hair; the diamond of my ring has spun to the inside of my finger and pushes into his scalp. I pull away for a second to catch my breath. He's breathing hard, his lips red and swollen and his cheeks flushed. From me. I feel crazy, like I could do anything, and I wonder if this spontaneity is me, or if being stuck on the side of the road with him has made me into something else entirely. He rises up to kiss me again and tugs my hair. I let out a little yelp. It feels good enough to want more, and from the way his jeans are tightening beneath me, I'm pretty sure he's feeling good, too.

A knock on the window makes me jump, and I pull away from Damon's mouth just in time for his older brother to open the driver's side door. If Damon's hard on didn't give it away, I'm sure the red lipstick stains around his mouth would have.

"What the hell? What are you two, a couple of teenagers fogging up the fucking windows in here or what?" Ric's grinning like an idiot.

I don't know the guy, but I can tell thing won't be the last we hear of it. Or his family hears of it. They don't look related aside from that sweet little something in their smirk. He seems like a decent guy to come out here and help us out.

Ric's the one person in Damon's family that I didn't meet before the accident. This is really our first encounter and I'm somehow relieved by it. I just wish he hadn't found me in his brother's lap. Once I'm settled back on my side of the car Damon tells me to stay inside while they dig us out. Now Damon's gone, I'm left alone with my thoughts. My feelings.

My cheeks heat and I bring my palms up to them. Quick flashes of what just happened roll through my memory. I wonder if he'll try to talk to me about it later or if he'll just expect us to fall into a relationship like we had before.

Watching Damon with his older brother is calming. They shake hands then hug, and Damon looks happier than I've ever seen him. They get the tires cleared away within ten minutes and with both of them pushing and me hitting the gas, we're back on pavement before I've really had time to process the kiss.

Damon does a once over on the car and decides it didn't suffer any damage from the spinout. He insists I ride with Ric in his pickup in case the Corvette slips off the road again, but I'm not comfortable enough for that just yet. I don't know what to talk about with him and I'm afraid he'll tease me about earlier. And what's with Damon? Does he want space?

Space would probably do the both of us some good, but I'm sure I'll get plenty of that when I hit the pillow tonight. Right now I've got my mind set on some hot turkey, a glass of wine and a warm house. Suddenly the worry over meeting his mother again has taken a backseat to everything else.

He was right; by 1:30 we're heading up a long and narrow driveway to his childhood home. It's nothing like I pictured. When he said lake cabins, I pictured something small and quaint. Not huge lakefront property with a pier and a boathouse. Our home south of here is nice and I've wondered how we afforded it, especially after the way he described our lifestyle before.

We haven't touched my bank account, he tells me. Not before, not while I was in a coma, and not now. It didn't dawn on me that he grew up with money, too. Not all wealthy men are the same, clearly. I loved my Daddy, but he walked around with dollar signs painted over his eyes. Damon's nothing like him at all.

We park between Ric's blue pickup truck and a white station wagon, which Damon tells me his mother just won't give up. The way he lights up when he talks about his mother is wonderful. I can't wait to meet her. My ankle's only a little achy as we make our way up the path to the front porch. Damon's got one arm wrapped around my middle to support me, but the way his fingers scrape slightly at my shirt tells me he's hoping for more later.

I have to hand it to him; he's more patient than I deserve. Women were practically drooling over him at the bakery we stopped at to fill up on coffee halfway through the drive, but he just politely said hello and handed me my refilled thermos. His dedication is one of the sexiest things about him, I think. I'm not sure I could find another man like him in the world if I wanted to. But I don't.

I just like him, however we are. Wherever we are. Whatever we are.

"How are you holding up?" He asks just before he turns the knob. From what he tells me, I can expect to be nearly suffocated as soon as I step in the door. I've met Harlow and Ric, so the main event is Erin, his mother. I've got my stats. She's 48-years-old. She had Ric in her late teens and Damon and Harlow in her early-twenties. Now that her babies have grown up and been married off, she's kept herself company with animals. She sounds like a lovely, kind woman. I'm not sure I could ever prepare myself to meet my mother-in-law, no matter how much I tried.

The door opens and I'm hit with the scent of all things Thanksgiving. The oven's been on for hours and it's heated the house to sleep-inducing temperatures. I eye the couch, where I'll no doubt be crashing from a Tryptophan overdose later. At 17, I'd never had a real home cooked turkey dinner.

Flames are roaring safely in the wall fireplace of the living room. I watch them flicker and think of my parents. I'm still learning about our history, but I do mourn lost chances. I'm lucky to be alive, here, with a family I hope will still love me even thought I'm charred.

I'm happy I don't remember the fire. I can't have those memories scarring up my future.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a large, moppy-haired dog charging in my direction.

"Woah. Slow down, bud," Damon steps in front me before I'm assaulted with doggy kisses. I hold out my hand and let him sniff me and he nuzzles his nose into my palm like he remembers me.

"He's happy you're back, too. This is Rocket. I've had him since I was 16," Damon's hand ruffles the black and white dog's messy hair. "He thinks he's a lap dog, so don't be surprised if he's trying to take a nap on you after pie."

A smaller dog prances in shortly after, it's short toenails clicking on the beautiful hardwood floors. I bend down to pet it and I see Erin Salvatore walking up to me. I hesitate a moment because I'm nervous again...maybe more so now.

"Sorry we're late, Ma," Damon says taking off his baseball cap before kissing his mother on each cheek. She pulls him into a hug and we make eye contact over his shoulder. She's smiling carefully at me, like I might break if she moves too quickly.

"Ah, whatever. What's a Salvatore holiday without a few quirks anyway?" She pulls away from him and he walks back toward me. I see affection and gratefulness in her smile as she looks at the two of us. I wonder what meeting her for my real first time was like. Did she like me then? Did she support us and our decision to marry?

The next thing I notice is her eyes. They're blue, like Damon's and Harlow's. Ric must look like their father. But their likeness ends there. She's got long, light blonde hair that reaches to the middle of her back, and skin smooth and fresh. She doesn't look a day over 40. I hope I age that well.

Damon's hand presses gently into the small of my back and I step forward to reach for her hand. I want to thank her for making dinner and inviting me, and also for supporting the wonderful man who's been taking amazing care of me. I owe her more than I can say.

"You look beautiful, honey," she says sweetly, taking my hand. "I'm so happy you're here." She moves a little like she's going to hug me, but stops short. If I know Damon, he had a thorough talk with all of his family members about the do's and don'ts with Elena Salvatore.

"Thank you, Mrs. Salvatore," my throat is dry. I'm overwhelmed with feelings. There are tiny tears in her eyes but I know I can't comfort her. I don't think she's asking me too. "Or should I call you Erin?"

"You can call me whatever you want, love," she takes a deep breath. "Dinner's ready whenever you're hungry. Harlow and Andrew are getting their things settled in her old room and Ric's out back checking on the deep fryer. He insisted on trying the deep fried turkey, but I made a traditional one, too. There's mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls and plenty of other sides. You know how I am," she looks at Damon and he smiles widely. His love and respect for his mother and sister is beautiful. He knows how to treat the women he cares about. He certainly knows how to treat me.

In our short time together so far, he's made me feel so many things. Happiness and frustration. Confusion and sadness. Heat and chills. The desire to remember and a strange peace knowing there's a chance I never will. But above all else, insurmountable thankfulness.

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it, as if he can tell I'm lost in my own head.

"Make yourselves comfortable around the table and I'll pour us some wine," she reaches down to pick up the small dog. His tiny tail wags, the simple gesture fills me with joy.

"Thanks, Ma..." He says, rubbing my back a little as we walk forward. We're alone for only a second so I stop before we reach the kitchen and look up at him and see pure hope floating in his eyes.

* * *

"It's all going to be okay, Lena. She loves you," he smiles. "You used to call her _Mom_, too."

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Damon POV is up next, and I'm really excited to work on it. Elena's POV of the car ordeal is the perfect way I could set it up. **


	6. Kiss Me

**A/N: I'm so happy to be able to get out another chapter. The holiday season at work is looming, and soon I'll be working 6 days a week. The finger's feeling better, though. **

**Thank you very, very much for the awesome responses last chapter. I was thrilled to see your reviews. Damon's POV is so much fun to write, and this one was particularly cool because I had the opportunity to get Damon's take on the car scene. **

**I chose Ed Sheeran's "Kiss Me" for this one. Thanks for reading. **

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 5: Kiss Me**

* * *

**Damon POV**

_**Present**_** Day...**

"Mom, seriously. You've got to show me how to make your green bean casserole," my sister says between bites. She's on her second glass of wine, and let me tell you, when Harlow gets a little alcohol in her, it's hard to shut her up. "And don't even say you just follow the recipe on the can. Ask Andrew. Mine tastes nothing like this. Does it, baby?"

My brother-in-law's eyes go wide for just a second as he scrambles to come up with the correct answer. The one that isn't a quite a lie but also won't get him kicked out of the bedroom later. I know the feeling all too well, bro. All husbands do. See, it isn't hesitation. It's fight or flight.

"I wouldn't say _nothing_ like it. The way I see it, there's no wrong way to make a casserole. You just throw a bunch of shit in a glass dish and wait," he brings his wine glass to his lips and takes a swig. Harlow's eyebrows raise to an what-the-hell-did-you-just-say level and I don't envy him one bit. The only woman as terrifying as Harlow is the beauty tracing fork trails in her jellied cranberries beside me. She can't keep the smirk off her face, but she sure is trying. Does she even know how adorable she is? I shovel in a mouthful of creamy mashed potatoes and sit back and enjoy the show.

"I mean, I'm sure a lot more thought and preparation goes into it than that. Aw, what the hell. I'm a guy, what do I know? I can't even make macaroni and cheese," Andrew manages and Harlow's face brightens in a satisfied smile.

_Nice save, bro._ At least I know I'll never have to sugar-coat anything when it comes to Elena's skills in the kitchen. Until last week, I had no idea I'd married the reincarnation of Betty Crocker.

Mom chuckles from the other side of the table. Every year she plays it off as if it's not too much work to make this extravagant meal for us. I took it all for granted when I was a kid. I always figured all Moms were the same...making tons of food and shoving pieces of delicious pie in their kid's faces. As I grew up, I learned how special my Mom really is. Just when I think I can't possibly love her more, I realize she's so amazing I'll never be able love her enough.

Her smile is ten times wider when her babies are home. And we are. Every single one of us. I swear Mom's been staring at Elena almost as much as I do, and I couldn't be happier. Mom's been one of my biggest supporters through my Elena-less years. She was the one I'd call on the cab ride to the airport after visiting Elena's hospital room. I swear she's heard it all, my doubts and hopes. I know seeing her here next to me now is kind of like a little miracle for both of us.

This is the first year we've all been here together since Harlow and I left home. While Elena and I made it to the last Thanskgiving before her accident, Ric was in Europe and going through a divorce. Harlow missed the year before that, when she was on the East coast visiting Andrew at New York University for the holiday. It's also the first Thanskgiving we've all been at the table since Dad died. Even years later, I still miss his corny jokes. No one's around to eat the giblets anymore.

"Well, who's ready for pie?" Mom asks with a knowing smile. Our crowd responds with a regretful groan, because we're all in the same boat right now. We desperately want it because it's so delicious, but will damn near explode if we eat even one more bite of anything.

"Gonna need a break first, Ma," I say, leaning back in my chair and slinging my arm around the top of Elena's. "But we'll for sure have some before we get back on the road. There might be a nap in order, too," I add, yawning.

"You're not seriously going to get back on the road in that thing," Ric snorts. "It's been snowing nonstop for eight hours. If you got stuck in two feet of snow, you'll be buried out there right now."

Mom's got that disapproving look on her face. I know she wants us to spend the night. And yeah, I'm exhausted and kind of sore from all that useless pushing I did on the car earlier. It'd be nice to devour a good few pieces of pie, knock back a few beers and call it a night in my old room. Hopefully with Elena snuggled up in my arms. And it's all pretty possible, except maybe that last part.

We haven't had a second alone since we got here and I'm itching to know what's going on in her head. I can tell she's still a little nervous, but she's fitting in just fine. Ric's taken over the tradition of telling awful jokes at the table and Elena's eyes light up with every mention of me as a kid. It's kind of hard, because she's heard some of these stories before but doesn't know it. She laughs at them with the same fire she did the first time around, and it gives me hope that we really do have a chance to have it all again.

"We're staying," Harlow chirps in. "It could be like old times."

Old times. Like when we three Salvatore kids would stuff our faces full of turkey, potatoes and pumpkin pie, then get in our pajamas for the Thanksgiving Day football game with some hot cocoa and pass out on the floor. The more I think about it, I could totally imagine five grown adults lounging around in sweats drinking beers and screaming at the football game. I'm just not sure Elena's up for staying the night. It's already been a big day for us.

Either way could be awkward. We'll either be alone in a car for four and half hours with no chance for space, or we'll be here, with four other sets of prying eyeballs watching every move we make. Yes, my family is nosy. I get it, though. We're the will-they-won't-they couple. And Harlow's not privy to information like she used to be, when she and Elena we're joined at the hip.

I'm torn about what to do, but this isn't a conversation I want to have in front of our fan club. I clear my throat in hopes they'll get a clue. Thank god for Harlow. I swear we've got a twin mental connection or something. She smiles at me before giving Andrew a kiss on the cheek and shooing him off to the living room with Ric.

"I'm going to help Mom clear the table and do some dishes. You boys get the beers and flip on the Packer game. We'll pick a drinking game in a half hour, so don't get carried away before I get in there," she teases. Her blue eyes flash to Elena, then back to me. I mouth a silent thank you before turning my full attention to my wife.

"Want a tour?" I ask, hoping to kill the awkwardness of this moment.

"Okay," I can feel the relief rolling off her. I have to believe she wants alone time, too. Maybe only to talk, but I'll take my chances. We're headed up the stairs to my childhood bedroom in a matter of a few minutes.

"Oh my god. You're adorable," she squeals, looking up at framed photo on the wall. It's my kindergarten photo. I'm five-years-old and Mom thought it would be a good idea to dress me up in a tie and suit jacket. All the other kids in my class wore t-shirts; I've never been so uncool in my life. It's funny, because it was two decades ago and I still remember it like yesterday. Stuff like that makes it incredibly hard to really comprehend what Elena's going through.

"You're like a mini politician or something," she bites her lip and walks forward a bit until she reaches my senior portrait. I wasn't quite 18 when it was taken, but I didn't change much for a few years. It's pretty close to the way I looked when we met, so my mind's racing a hundred miles an hour when I notice how long she's been looking at it. Does she remember me that way? She's seen so many pictures of us at our own home and never let on that she remembered. I can't get my hopes up anymore than I already have today.

"It's like the Damon Hall of Fame in here," her eyes get wider with each frame she passes. Me playing with toy cars. The Damon and Harlow 10th Birthday Bash.

"Turn the corner and you'll run into the Harlow and Ric wings. Mom was like the paparazzi when I was a kid. If something happened and she was around, there's probably a picture of it somewhere. She's a big scrapbooker. It's actually pretty cool."

"Is that our house?" She asks, raising up on her tiptoes and squinting to get a closer look. I'm 12, and Dad and I are covered in grease as we work on a car out by the garage.

"Yeah," I guess I owe her details. "My Dad was a businessman. Living up north didn't give him much opportunity, so he bought a house about an hour outside of the city where he could stay a few days during the week to be closer to his office. It would've been easier if we all lived closer to the city, but he couldn't bear to give up our place here. In the summer, we'd spend weeks at a time there. Fishing, working on cars. It was like our place." It's harder to talk about than I thought it would be, even so many years later. "He left it to me in his will."

She swallows, then walks two more steps until she lands in front of a picture of us. I'm in my driver's suit with a baseball cap sporting the logo of my sponsor sewn on the front, and I'm grinning ear to ear as Elena presses a kiss to my cheek. That memory is as fresh as the morning, too, because it's the day we decided to get married. And damn, it's selfish of me not to share that with her right now. I'm really just looking forward to getting her in my room, shutting the door and seeing what happens.

"Alright, even I'm getting sick of looking at myself," I joke. "I'll tell you all about the rest of them another time. Let's get you off that ankle," I nod toward my old bedroom door.

My heart starts slamming the moment I close the door. She's on the edge of the bed, drawing her leg up to the mattress and slipping off her boot. Her fingers find her ankle bone and flexes it a bit. The last thing I want to do is leave the room to get an ice pack. I'm happy my bathroom is connected to my room. Mom keeps this place well-stocked. I've been gone for years but she hasn't peeled my posters from the walls. The truth is, I spent quite a few nights back home while Elena was in a coma. I couldn't stand being in our house alone all the time.

I was 21 and on the verge of becoming a widower.

I'm tough as nails, or so I'd like to think. It's the reason I left when Dad died. I obviously don't grieve well. Back then I was out to prove there was nothing in the world could stop me from my dreams; I didn't realize dreams could change. That sometimes they aren't jobs or things, but people. A lot changed before the accident even happened. But in the many years I woke up without my wife beside me, I learned that grief is impossible to avoid.

"What do you want to do about tonight?" I ask.

She's got one cheek on her knee, and she's worrying her bottom lip when she looks up at me. I think her eyes are even more gorgeous than the last time I saw them. My god, they're distracting. Shit. This is it. She's going to say something.

"You think we should stay," It's not a question. Her voice is a velvet smooth and soft. I'm thrown by how relaxed she looks right now. Maybe I've been overthinking everything.

"Yes," I pull my hands from my jean pockets and move to sit next to her on the bed. "By the time we have pie and watch the game it'll be getting dark. The plows won't have the roads cleared up here until tomorrow, and they'll all be frozen over. I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I have to do what's right. We're safer here."

Our bags are already in here. I dropped them on my bed after changing into a set of warm, dry clothes when we got here. I noticed Elena's ankle give a little when she stood from her chair. It's one more reason to take it easy tonight. I hate to admit it, but Ric's right. I'd never forgive myself if something happened. I just got her back.

She's seemed to enjoy her time here so far, and it hasn't been nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. She even managed to fit a few of her own Let's-Make-Fun-Of-Damon stories into the mix at dinner. It got her laughing pretty hard and I couldn't be happier.

"So we'll stay," she says easily, knocking my side with her knee. I'm surprised, because I expected more resistance, or at least her trademarked puppy dog eyes. Not complaining, though. We might sleep under the same roof every night, but tonight is different. Our kiss sizzles in my mind, burning itself into a new memory. I've only gotten a taste of her. And I want more.

"Good. I'll tell Mom when we go back down in a little while." I'm not even going to mention a guestroom. We'll figure all that out later. "I wasn't kidding before. I'm tired hell. Could use a post-turkey snooze and a hot shower," I say as I fall back onto the bed. I've got a good view of the ceiling until Elena moves to hover over me. She's kicked her other boot off and scooted up to sit where with hip and pressed against my side. Her right hand presses into the mattress on the other side of me, just next to my hip. She's not touching me, but I'm trapped and don't want to escape.

I take the opportunity to admire her this way. I want to thread my fingers through her hair and pull her down on top of me. Not just because I'm sex starved—I so am—but because it just feels so good when she's pressed into me. I fist my hands beside me and tell myself to wait for her to make a move. She shouldn't be sitting so damn close if she's not going to do something.

"You up for pie and drunk football watching later, or you want to crash early?"

This is me exercising patience. It's not going so well.

I push her hair behind her ear and my eyes catch on her lips. She fixed her lipstick in the car mirror when we got in the driveway. They're once again a deep, tormenting red and I want them all over me, staining my skin.

"Pie and football. Definitely," she smiles. Damn. I was hoping to keep her in here all night. It's kind of nice that she's up for hanging out with my family, though. We've been alone so much that I worry she's missing out on interacting with others. I hope she and Harlow can get back even a bit of what they used to share. It's a lot harder to make good friends when you're older. When we were younger, we didn't have to work at anything. Things just fit and fell into place automatically. I wonder if she's still the type to always get what she wants.

Over the last few weeks, I've seen changes. While she verbally says _friend_, her body sways to mine like a magnet. Her eyes flash hot when she thinks I'm not looking. I know what she's afraid of, but I also know she's not one to let fear stand in her way. And she's full of all kinds of courage right now.

I cringe when I shift my shoulder. I make a move to rub it but she beats me to it with a frown.

"You hurt yourself?" Her fingers knead into my muscles in a delightful way.

"It's just stiff. I'll be fine," _Hell, I'll forget about it if you keep touching me like that. _"Really."

Her hand stops on my collarbone and I can't help but believe these movements have nothing to do with my sore shoulder. The top two buttons of my thin, white henley are undone, and her fingers spread across the exposed skin. I swallow, and she smiles when her fingers cave slightly in the crook of my neck. The torture's not over. It only gets worse when her eyes float down my body and land on my hips. I don't know what's come over her and I don't really care. _Ogle away, baby. _

I'm wearing my favorite pair of jeans, too. They're well broken in, with a hole near one of my front belt loops, but I can't bring myself to get rid of them. I'm really fucking glad, because they're doing the work for me right cool fingertip circles the frayed edge before running over my bare skin. Guys get goosebumps, too. Okay?

"You're wearing holy jeans?" Okay, she doesn't sound _that_ upset about it. Maybe she's looking for reasons to touch me, too. "I can sew, you know..." it comes out a little throaty, and somehow sounds like the sexiest thing a woman's ever said to me. Her fingernail is fantastically sharp, and I shiver when it bites into my hip bone.

"You can?" I swallow. Did my voice seriously just break like a 13-year-old? I clear it and hope to God she didn't notice. She nods and moves her fingers away so she can adjust herself on the mattress. I finally let out a breath when she leans back to put her head on my neighboring pillow and folds her hands loosely on her stomach. Guess she hasn't forgotten how to tease.

She must've been studying up on seduction in her sleep. Her eyes are innocent, like she can't see the situation going on in my pants. The longer I stare at her, the more obvious the smirk on her face becomes. She knows what she's doing, and so do I. It thrills me, because if this is anything like it used to be, she's up for more. I won't take anything she's not willing to give. I can keep it as innocent as she wants. Or I can make it quite the opposite. Only time will tell. All I know is, she's playing. And you know what that earns? A little dose of my own torture medicine. Tickles.

She's one of those tickle victims who acts like it's the end of the world. She tries holding her breath, as if it'll make me stop. It only makes me tickle her harder, because I know when I hit just the right spot on her ribs, she'll take this huge breath anyway. And it almost always ends up in sex.

No, I don't think it'll go that way tonight. I sure as hell would be okay with it if it did.

Okay, it's mean because she has no idea what's coming. She's lying there all peacefully under the impression that I'm going to mind my own business and behave, because it's what I've been doing for weeks. But it's not what she really wants. She wants me to try something. If she didn't, she'd already be back downstairs wolfing down pie and ice cream with the rest of them.

I sit up and grab the microsuede blanket from the end of the bed. It's all bunched from where we'd been sitting before, so I find the end and tug it up, pretending like I'm going to cover her. She smiles at me appreciatively, but when I reach about her hips, I squint toward the nightstand on her side of the bed, pretending to see something. Her nose scrunches up and she turns her head to look and I drop the blanket and move in for the kill. When I tickle, I go all out. I'm talking bare skin and squealing.

She lets out a gasp when my hands find her sides. My fingers dance softly along the flat plane of her stomach, then zero in on their target. Her ribs. I have to shift on top of her in order to do the job right. I'm a Salvatore; I don't do a half-ass job on anything. Especially not Elena.

"Hey!" She laughs. "Hey, that's not fair!" Her cheeks go pink as her breath comes out faster and shorter the more I tickle. Her shirt's rolled up to her neck and I'm treated to a marvelous view of the _other_ Salvatore twins in my life. Red satin has never looked so good.

"Damon. I. Hey..." she squirms beneath me as my fingers play across her body like an instrument, but she's not the only one affected. I've got my knees on either side of her hips and all of her giggling and bouncing isn't helping me stay calm.

"Okay, okay..." My hands still at her sides and I really take a moment to look at her. She's throughly worked over, considering we didn't even do anything. She raises her eyebrows, silently asking me if I'm really done. I smile, because I'm not. I'm just treating her to the full experience. I press my hands into the pillow on either side of her head. I look wide open and defenseless, right?

There's no doubt in my mind she's going to try to tickle me. It's a damn good thing I'm not ticklish. She scoots herself back on the bed so she's upright and pressed against the headboard. I move a little, but I'm still breathing right on her chest. Her hands slide up the sides of my shirt and her nails scrape at my abdomen. Nothing. Well...no tickles, at least. I bounce my eyebrows, daring her to try again. When she does, she frowns.

"What the hell? That's not cool," She laughs, then slides back down to get her head on the pillow. Her wavy brown locks spread across her pillow, and I'm surrounded by her sweet scent. Let me tell you. It's _very_ cool.

Here's the part I love the most.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, but I had to, Lena. You sort of asked for it," I shrug then shift like I'm going to get off her. I'm already planning my next attack when her lip pushes out into this beautiful pout; she's practically begging for me to kiss her. Now I'm the defenseless one.

I'm still above her, holding her warm sides. My fingers trace tiny figure eights on her hipbones and she wiggles around a little more. I take a deep breath and flit my fingers over her ribs again, but I'm stopped almost immediately when I hear her whisper.

"No more, baby..." she whispers. I'm taken aback. She hasn't called me that since before the accident. It just rolled off her lips like second nature. My God. I have to know. Is she remembering us?

We've never been the type to have really deep talks. We move and kiss and let our bodies explain our feelings. But we were kids back then. So much time has passed and I'm left wondering if this is how we'll still be now.

The strange thing is, I almost hope this _isn't_ a memory for her. If she never gets those years back, I'll want and love her all the same. I want her to look at me this way and do these things with me because of something she feels right now. Not because it's what she's supposed to do.

Fire flares in her eyes. I give it a second, but she doesn't say a word and I'm convinced she's in the present and not remembering. I take a few shallow breaths because I'm faltering. I'm supposed to be tickling her senselessly. This was supposed to be simple fun. A way to connect with her and make her laugh without escalating things to unstoppable level. But fuck. Her doe eyes are full of sexy curiosity and I want to teach her how we work all over again.

Just like I did the first time.

If I could only remember one thing in my entire life, I'd want it to be the very first moment she came apart beneath me. Not because I'm a guy and that's the way we work. Sleeping with Elena was so different from everything I've done before. Yeah, she was sex wrapped up in a tight little package. She walked and sassed like she'd done it hundreds of times before. But she hadn't. Nope. I was her first. And moving inside her was like a first for me, because when she looked up at me afterward with pretty little stars dancing in her eyes, I realized I never wanted to do this with anyone else. I was in love.

Her fingers drag through my hair, pushing pieces around until it stands up around my head in messy chunks. We're so close, every time she exhales it reaches my lips. I open my mouth to tell her how beautiful she is, but I don't get the chance. Her luscious red lips are on mine. Nibbling. Sucking. Dear God. I shift on her again and disconnect our lips so I can get to work on the smooth skin of her neck. She tips her head back to give me a better angle, and I'm everywhere. Her shoulders. The perfect skin peaking over the top of her satin bra. I move along her jaw slowly, savoring every second of it. When I reach her lips she kisses me hard again and digs her nails into the back of my neck. The harder I kiss her back, the more she presses into me. And damn, for a woman who says she doesn't know what she's doing with this kind of thing, she's a fucking superstar.

Her lips pull away only to find my ear and she whispers, almost inaudibly, "You feel really good. Show me how you like it."

"Elena. Shit, baby," I manage. "This is good. This is really good. I like it however you want to give it to me-"

She cuts me off with another wild kiss. Her tongue is velvet in my mouth. Between ragged breath, she says,

"I...I remember the way you taste,"

Holy shit.

She doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm desperate to keep this going. To give her more reasons to remember. Of course I want her to remember everything that led us to this point. But right now I'm not just kissing the woman I fell in love with five years ago. I'm kissing this beautiful, strong woman who came back to me with nothing more than trust. I love her, too.

Her lips turn into a smile against mine and I pull away to check her eyes. They'll tell me what I need to know. She looks happy. We've been given this great gift, and while I could kiss her all night and never get enough, we need to do this right. We have to stop. Right now. Because I can't rip off her clothes when I know she could regret it in the morning. In her own head, she doesn't remember giving herself to me. I can't take that from her now. I can't break her trust or give her reasons to doubt me.

Thankfully, she's as into changing the subject as I am. My earlier question is answered: she's not so into big, dramatic talks. She presses one more quick kiss to my lips to tell me she's okay, then moves into safer territory. Dessert.

"Think there's any pie left?" I'm still staring at her lips. I've got to stop thinking about how good her tongue felt in my mouth if I ever want to be decent enough to go back downstairs and hang out with my family. I swallow and run my hand through my hair, flattening her messy masterpiece.

"Damon?" She asks, licking her finger and wiping her lipstick off my mouth. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah fine. What did you ask?" _Sorry, I can only think about crawling in that bed with you again tonight, _I think. She smiles and repeats herself. Apparently.

"Your Mom's pie. Do you think there's any left?" She's serious, but I have to laugh. Well what? We've been up here a long time." She combs her fingers through her wavy hair and works it up into a messy bun. "What if they ate it all?"

"Not possible. Mom makes enough pie left to feed us and the rest of the houses this side of the lake. Sweet Potato. Pumpkin. Pecan. If you can dream it up, it's probably on the kitchen counter right now."

Her eyes light up and she digs in the duffle bag until she finds a pair of black leggings and an oversized red hooded sweatshirt. "Care if I put on some pajamas?"

I think she just asked as a formality, because she's already wiggling her way out of her skinny jeans and into the leggings. The hoodie is over her head in a second. It hangs below her ass and she looks ridiculously cute. I'm surprised she changed in front of me

I shed my holy jeans and pull on a thick pair of grey sweats. Elena's eyes go wide when I peel off my henley and dig through the duffle for a looser fitting shirt. She's locked onto my tattoo.

"It means _eternal_," I tell her before pulling the black t-shirt over my head.

"How long have you had it?" She reaches out touch the ink on my bicep.

"Four years."

She looks down at her finger for a second and spins her ring on her finger so the diamond faces up, then takes my hand and leads me to the door without saying a word. We sneak through the kitchen and see the pies have been cut into, so we head into the living room.

We sat around the table with my family for a few hours before we came up here, but anyone who can do math can tell you we've been up here for a good hour. Sure as shit they've got a pretty good idea of what we were doing.

The volume of the TV is cranked to a ridiculous level. The game is long over and we're already almost a quarter into the next one. There's empty beer bottles lined up along the end tables and Mom's nowhere to be found.

"Illegal contact my ass!" Ric roars at the 's sitting in Dad's tattered old recliner. "What the hell are these ref's seeing!" Clearly he's got a good buzz going.

Few things are as entertaining as my family watching football. Add alcohol and it's ten times worse.

Andrew and Harlow are sitting on the ground with their backs leaned against the couch. He's sound asleep but my sister is wide-eyed and grinning when we step over their legs. I think it's because I'm holding Elena's hand. I make sure she's okay before heading into the kitchen to get some pie. I take a moment for myself. I really need it.

I pour two mugs of coffee and set a few plates of pie at the table. I go to round her up so we can eat, and I'm surprised to see Elena on the floor next to Harlow with a beer in her hand. My sister's arms are flailing around, so I know she's in prime storytelling mode. It's probably something completely embarrassing about me, but that's okay. Seeing the two of them laughing together warms my heart.

I really don't want to interrupt them, but I kind of want her to myself again. Sometimes I think my family's as crazy about her as I am. But ultimately, she is mine. And I'd really like to eat some pie and have some coffee with her in the kitchen.

"Lena," I call out softly. When she turns, she's smiling so wide I swear her cheeks must hurt. I nod my head toward the kitchen and she crawls up from her spot on the floor.

"Way to hog her, Damon!" Harlow calls out to me, sticking out her tongue. Yeah, she's a few beers in. Definitely.

I'm glad when Elena takes my hand without hesitation and leads me into the kitchen.

The coffee pot was turned on and the brew smells fresh, so I know Mom's around here somewhere. Probably on the porch thinking back to years passed when Dad was still around and we were all young kids.

And I'll take my time to reflect too. With Elena. In a few hours we'll be back upstairs figuring out the bedroom situation. Will she want the guestroom or will I get the honor of sharing a bed with her for an entire night? Sometimes talking makes it worse; things with Elena go better when we just let them play out.

She sits down in front of her steaming hot mug of coffee and inhales. I can't help but smile when I really get a look at her in this bright light. She's shoveling pumpkin pie in her face. Her cheeks are still pink. From me. Her eyeliner is smudged and her lipstick worn off. It's a complete turn on that she's not worried about impressing me.

We're silent for a few moments as we dig into our pie, but she catches me off guard with a question.

"I've been wondering...was I completely awful when we met?" She takes a big sip of coffee and waits for my reply. It's one of the first times she's asked anything about our past, so I'm nervous and excited. Our story isn't a fairytale; it's a different kind of pretty.

"Are you kidding me?" My fork stops halfway to my mouth. "You are kidding me, right?"

She shakes her head and digs her fork in for another big bite of pumpkin pie.

"I just have this image of myself in my head. The last things I remember had me in a pretty bad place. I was bitchy and stupid. I just wondered if I was that way with you."

"Never. You were a little rough around the edges, but so was I. We're more alike than you know. But you could never be completely awful. You're were the greatest thing to ever happen to me," I push some whipped cream around my plate and give her a second to think on it before I add, "Even after everything we've been through, I still believe that."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! **


	7. Bless The Broken Road

**A/N: Thank you very much to this of you who've been reading and reviewing. I love seeing your thoughts. I had a good time with this. It's a bit different than the other Elena POV chapter so far. We've got time jumps, flashbacks and lots of other stuff. I hope you enjoy it. **

**I chose "Bless The Broken Road" for my title. Although it's most known for the Rascall Flatts version, it was originally recorded by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. **

**Thanks again for reading.**

* * *

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 6: Bless The Broken Road**

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**Elena POV**

"_One_..." _His eyes flick down to my mouth and he wets his lips._

"_Two..." He's not kissing me yet, but he's going to. His lips brush over mine with every word. He's got one hand on the wheel and the other on my upper thigh, sneaking his fingertips up the frayed edges of my tiny shorts. My heart rate skyrockets just from his touch. _

_ "Hold on tight, baby," he says against my mouth as he revs the engine. It's pitch black out, and we're under a blanket of bright stadium lights. He's never taken me out on the track before. I'm buzzing with excitement; high on life, because he makes me feel like I can do anything. _

_ Everything. _

_ He makes me feel like no one ever has. _

_ "You ready?" he whispers against me and I shake my head.I knot my fingers in his thick hair and pull him back to me. I kiss him hard and slow, slamming him back against his door with the promise of what's to come. When he pulls away, my stomach flips. I'll never get enough. _

_ His blue eyes blaze beneath the long dark bangs swept across his forehead and I can barely breathe. It's not because we're about to strap in and take off at speeds well over 100mph. It't not because we snuck in the stadium and could easily be caught. He flashes me a smile and my world tilts off its axis just because he's all mine. _

_ His warm hands guide me back to my seat and secure me in place. _

_ "You ready now?" He pushes his hair out of his eyes, and when I nod, he shifts in the driver's seat and yanks the gear into drive..._

_ "Three!"_

* * *

_**Present Day...**_

Holy shit.

I've been awake for nearly two hours, and unwilling to get out of bed. It's early. The clock on Damon's nightstand reads 6:30 a.m. If we were home I'd probably get up and think about breakfast. Damon always makes a huge pot of bold, dark roast coffee before he leaves for work in the morning. I could really go for a giant mug of it right now. But I've got something better than caffeine flowing through my veins right now.

I've got a memory. An honest-to-God memory of Damon. Of us.

And I don't care how brief or vague it may have been. It was real. I got just a taste of how real we were. And as the days roll forward, I'm learning that we're becoming pretty real now, too.

No, it wasn't a dream; I was wide awake and looking up at him from my pillow as he lowered his lips to mine and delivered a sizzling goodnight kiss. And a memory.

The kiss was hot but shorter than the others we'd shared that day. We got back to his room well after midnight. We watched _A Christmas Story_ after our pie. We laughed so hard we woke his siblings, and we played a few rounds of cards at the kitchen table. I was buzzing from a few bottles of beer and quick to shut him down when he offered to sleep in the guest room. The feelings I get from just being around him are thrilling enough to quiet the few doubts.

When he kissed me this time, and let his body hang over mine protectively, there was no where else in the world I wanted to be. I was treated with the only thing I've been asking for since I woke up from my coma. Familiarity.

I guess I'll never know what triggered it, but I'm thankful and hopeful that the more time I spend with him, the easier these memories will come. It's comforting to know the butterflies in my stomach aren't new at all; they've been around for years, warm and wonderful, even when I couldn't feel them dancing.

I haven't told him yet. I just kissed him back and said goodnight.

Needless to say, I barely slept last night. He crawled into the bed and tucked himself under the covers a comfortable distance away from me. He didn't move to kiss me again, but as the hours ticked away, he crept closer to me. He's shirtless and in a pair of thick black sweats, sprawled diagonally across the bed with his hand resting flat on my stomach. My heart is beating out of control just from the simple intimacy of it. The domesticity. It's something I don't remember feeling before now.

I don't want to keep things from him, especially since he's been so supportive and patient this whole while. It's been hard to explain the things that have come back to me slowly – his scent, a song, the sweet taste of his lips. I swear the things he thinks will trigger my memory never do; instead, they're dug up from simple things. Like spending time with him. Up until now, my my memories have been feelings. Up until now, I wasn't sure I'd ever actually have a mental picture of us from before. I get the feeling our kisses last night have nothing on the heat bubbling between us years ago. I'm anxious to see where we're going.

You know how movie theaters pump the smell of popcorn through the vents to make a person lose her shit if she doesn't break down and buy a bucket? That kind of thing is going on right now, only it's fresh coffee, and I'm pretty sure it's free. I'm torn between staying in this spot until he wakes up, and sneaking downstairs to see if the coffee is fair game. If I'm being honest, the caffeine might do me some good. Staying in bed with him all day could be wonderful, but also a bit overwhelming on my system. I'm supposed to be taking things easy, however I get the feeling Damon's fully capable of working miracles on my body at any speed.

Yes, it's time to move now. My head's racing with the possibilities. I shift a little in my spot until he moves his hand away and I instantly miss his touch. He mumbles something about radiators, then he's back to a dull snore. In the interest of modesty around his family, I throw a zip hoodie over my thin strapped black tank top before I head downstairs.

There's something remarkable about this family. They've managed to make me feel comfortable and welcome without pressuring me to fall into old suit. I don't think I could've picked a sweeter Mother-in-law if I tried; she may only be mine through marriage, but I'm happy to have her.

_"_Morning, Elena," Harlow's perky voice calls from the other end of the kitchen. She's at the counter cutting cinnamon rolls into slices. The radio is on an oldies station and Jackson 5 is playing at a comfortable volume. Her dark hair is tied up in a loose bun like mine, and I can't get over how startlingly similar her eyes are to Damon's. Yeah, he's speeding around in my head on overdrive lately.

I glance out the window and see the landscape blanketed with a fresh coat of snow. It's a god damn winter wonderland out there, and I'm glad we spent the night. I don't know if I would've gotten that memory back if I hadn't been sleeping beside.

I eye the coffee pot and Harlow laughs.

"That's my girl," she reaches to the cabinet beside her and pulls out a huge ceramic mug. "Pour yourself a big ol' mug. Damon said you were an earlier riser now. I called bullshit," she shrugs and licks icing from her fingers, then rinses them under the faucet. "Looks like he knows what he's talking about when it comes to you. Have you seen him yet this morning?"

I smile. She's fishing for information. I'm in a good mood, so I'll play along. I would love to make a few friends, and since Damon tells me Harlow is my very _best_ friend, this seems like a pretty good place to start. I pour myself coffee, dump in my usual half-and-half to splenda ratio, and lean against the counter beside her.

"Um, yeah," I'm trying really hard to keep the blush off my face. My relationship with him feels sort of private and fragile, so I'm not about to dish out details about how far he's been sticking his tongue down my throat. What sister would want to hear that, anyway? "We got to bed super late and he's still sleeping. I can't remember the last time the sun was up before him."

She smiles widely and it's nice. I've always wanted a sister.

"Andrew's still sleeping, too. Worn the hell out, probably. Thanks to me," she takes a deep breath and fans herself. "I swear to God, Lena. We've been together for six years and it never gets old. They say marriage is the number one killer of good sex, but I'd have to disagree." Harlow's got a fun personality, as I learned last night during cards. I wonder how similar we really are. "And I'm ready to puke just thinking about it, but I'll tell you because no one else will. You and my brother?" She smirks. "Hot as sin. I only know because you're gross like that and like to over-share just to get a rise out of me," she teases.

Well okay then.

Thankfully, the subject changes on its own as I sip my coffee and eye the cinnamon rolls. She's dipping the slices into an egg mixture and dropping them onto a hot griddle to make french toast. The song ends and another upbeat one comes on just as Erin makes her way into the kitchen. She's in a pair of jeans and a soft cotton pink shirt and she's ogling the coffee pot like it's the last drop of water in the desert. I swear; Coffee is the common denominator in this family.

"Good morning, my dears," she says, flipping the newspaper open to find the day after Thanksgiving sales ads. "Not freezing your ass off this morning with the rest of the nuts to get Andrew this 72-inch TV for $200?"

"God no. Are you kidding, Ma?" She laughs. "You know I don't get into all that pushing and shoving. I'd much rather be in a warm house clicking buttons on a computer and drinking coffee, where I know I won't lose a finger if I get in the wrong person's way. Besides, Elena's here. We were just talking about our sleepy husbands," she flips the slices.

"Well breakfast smells delicious. I'm sure they'll be down in a few minutes," Erin says.

"Better put on a second pot of coffee because Andrew's a grump-ass without at least three cups," Harlow adds.

"It's 4 for Damon. I'm seriously thinking about buying one of those coffee urns that holds like 60 cups," I joke. It's nice to be able to participate in this conversation, however trivial it may be.

"Your father was the same way," Erin explains softly as she looks at both of us. Damon wasn't kidding when he said she treats me like her own. I know from Damon that it's been five years since he passed, but her voice breaks in a way that makes it still fresh. I think about what it must be like to miss someone so much while knowing they'll never come back.

"Get a little coffee in him and he'd turn into a saint. Do anything I asked. Those men of yours are just the same." The sadness leaves her eyes and she's once again wearing that loving, motherly smile. "Hold onto them tightly and don't ever let go."

We're silent for a moment to let the uneasy feeling pass. I wish I knew the right thing to say to tell her how sorry I am for her loss and to thank her for making me feel like a part of this family. But before I can string together even a few kind words, Harlow's plating up the french toast.

"These look done to me. I say we get a round in before the boys wake up and eat 'em all."

We're seated around the table with our coffee and fancy french toast and talking about the card games last night when suddenly the mood shifts.

"I'm not trying to be nosy, but how are things going for you, honey?" Erin asks. She's got that calm look about her that says she's a great listener. And while these women are kind and wonderful, I won't share my memories with them before I tell Damon. Instead, I give them something simple.

"Things are good. Damon's back to work and once I get settled in again, I'll start looking for work, too," I tell them. They glance at each other, seemingly surprised, then both dig into their breakfast again and let me continue. I tuck this reaction in the back of my mind to ask Damon later. "I need to stay busy. Staying home all the time gives me too much time to think."

And wonder. And worry...and I really want to be done with all of that. Trying to move on has helped me tremendously. If I stand around waiting to remember, I'd be missing out on all of this. I appreciate the way they're handling my situation; their smiles are more curious than sympathetic, and I don't feel like a victim.

Yes, I survived something I probably shouldn't have. I escaped with a few burns and a four-year vacation to dreamland while my parents suffered. I've steered clear of the details of that event so far because it's the one thing I'd be okay never remembering. I don't know how I got out. I have to assume I was there visiting my parents, since Damon and I lived several states away, but I wonder what brought me back. Now that I know I'm safe, I'm itching for details about my relationship with them during the last years of their lives.

I do know one thing. I was a complete brat when I was 17, constantly doing things just to get their attention. And they weren't good things, like getting good grades or volunteering at senior living centers. No, I was a wreck, stuck somewhere between being a child and becoming an adult without any guidance. I'd make one horrible decision after another just to see if they'd scold me.

Since I attended boarding school, I did spectacularly bad things worthy of a phone call to my parents. I figured after awhile I'd get kicked out or they'd pull me out and bring me back so they could keep better tabs on me. I remember how shocked my teachers were that my actions seemed to flip overnight. I was the model student, well behaved until senior year. I wore pretty pearl earrings and my school uniform. I had perfectly pressed hair and was always playing the part of the dutiful surgeon's daughter with a bright future. But I realized I was acting, and the lies were getting me nowhere. In the blink of an eye, everything just snapped. I already had a ton of black marks on my name, and my purposefully bad choices made it worse. I lost myself in them. I became them.

* * *

_**Six years ago...**_

"Miss Gilbert. Are you with me?"

I'm sitting at my guidance counselor's desk in his big, organized office. His wall clock reads 9 a.m. I'm definitely off to a bad start of my day.

I focus on the papers on his desk so I don't have to look up at his eyes. We've been sitting here for ten minutes and he's yet to get a word out of me. He's 24 and gorgeous, and I'm 17 and drunk as hell. I can't promise I won't say something completely inappropriate. "Do you understand what you're doing in my office today?"

I nod, but it's a lie. I'm physically here, but my mind is everywhere else. I take a sip from my clear bottle and begin to scribble in my notebook. I'm numbed out and content to just sit here doodling.

"Elena," he says a little louder and takes the bottle from my hand. "Eyes up here."

I know what will happen when I look at him. He'll see the glazed look I'm sporting and send me to the school nurse, then to the psychologist, and finally the principal, where they'll determine I'm completely trashed and need to be suspended for a few days. But here's the thing. I just got off a round of suspension three weeks ago for repeatedly breaking curfew. I didn't get sent home. My parents didn't visit or come to talk sense into me.

I just got the usual, _"Don't be foolish, Elena. You weren't put on this earth to tarnish our family name..." _speech, and I'm pretty sure they sent a fat check to keep everyone quiet. The bastards at this school are money hungry enough to be paid off. No matter what I do, it doesn't work. But it can't hurt to keep trying. I just don't see any other way.

He unscrews the cap to my bottle and brings it to his nose.

"Surprise. It's not water," I say flatly. He shakes his head and recaps it, setting it on the other side of the desk away from us. His arms fold across his chest and gives me the _You're-completely-unbelievable _look. See, this isn't our first rodeo.

"You were sent here after your very first class of the day because Miss Bennett smelled alcohol on your breath. Never mind that it's not even 10 o'clock in the morning. You're underage. Do you understand the severity of your poor decisions?"

"I'm fine, Elijah," I say. He's barely older than me, so I find it hard to take his reprimands seriously. I close my notebook and look up into his eyes, tucking a loose strand of my wavy hair behind my ear. Am I flirting? Who the hell knows. I can't separate right from wrong right now because it all just ends the same.

"For the hundredth time, it's Mr. Mikaelson," he says firmly. He takes in my full appearance and squeezes the bridge of his nose. "You're really working my nerves today, just so you know. Now be honest. How much have you had to drink today?"

I shrug and stare right back at him with a devious look on my face. I'm ballsy, and I think he sees it as a challenge. I swipe a framed photo of a yellow labrador retriever off his desk and attempt to focus on it.

"Cute puppy," I turn the frame around in circles, trying to wrap my head around the image. It's pretty blurry right now. _I'm_ pretty blurry.

"I don't know what to say to you anymore, except you're too young to be ruining yourself. We've been in this office too many times this semester. From what I can see in your file, you didn't have any trouble until this year. Is there something we can do to help you?"

_Yes. Kick me out. _

"No," I say, setting the photo of his dog back down on his desk. "Like I said...I'm fine. I'm a kid. I fuck up. End of story,"

"Get your things, Elena. I'll walk you to the nurse," he swallows. He follows me to the door and sticks his head into the hallway before I walk away. "We'll be placing a follow-up phone call with your parents. There are programs available to you if this becomes a problem. You're better than this. You've worked hard at school for years, but if you continue on the path you're treading, you won't be graduating with the rest of your class. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," I say, leaning against the doorframe. I move the strap of my bag up on my shoulder and do my best to walk a straight line to the other side of the building. Inside I know I haven't won a thing; I just can't stop.

* * *

_**Present Day...**_

Bratty doesn't begin to describe the way I remember myself. I'm regretful, even though I know it doesn't change a thing. I get the feeling it was only the beginning of my downward spiral, and that I have Damon to thank for slowing me down.

I guess I did graduate on time. Damon tells me we met when I was a freshman attending Stanford. I can't imagine I got there on my own, though. I doubt any of the staff would've written letters of recommendations. I'm sure my parents paid for Stanford to overlook my behavior, just so they didn't have to explain to the other country club members why their daughter didn't go to college.

Some parents, right? Always thinking of themselves.

I know I shouldn't compare Erin Salvatore to my Mom and Dad, but sometimes I can't help it. Instead of parallels, I see opposites. To my parents, I was a problem they could shove off on someone else. Once I started acting out, it only got worse. They didn't bring me to their events anymore for fear I'd embarrass them. They wouldn't have approved of me marrying Damon. His family is wealthy, but I get the impression he used to be as lost as I was. I'm not even sure they ever met him.

I'm thinking too much.

Harlow's up and pouring herself another cup of coffee and I'm jolted back to reality as I know it now. A warm house that feels like a home. A family I've only just begun to let in. I'm riddled with guilt thinking about how careless I was. Missing out on four years really puts life into perspective.

"I know this must be awkward for you," I manage. "I bet you never thought you'd get to meet your daughter-in-law all over again." I look at Erin and smile, because if I don't, I could easily cry. She's looking at me with patience and thankfulness. She really has a way of making me feel like I belong with them.

"And you're just as sweet as the first time, love," She smiles. "Maybe sweeter. You hung the moon, as far as my son is concerned. Even if you don't remember, I promise you're a very important part of this family."

It's obvious he cares for me, but I've been asking him to walk on eggshells around me. It's nice hearing about it from his mother.

"Seriously. I've never heard him sound more excited than the day he called to tell me you woke up," Harlow says. "It was 3 o'clock in the morning, so I naturally thought the worst. You'd been in that bed for so long..." she swallows, then her eyes light up. "When he told me you'd woken up, I thought I was dreaming. We all did.

"You know, you were in a hospital in Wyoming for all that time, hundreds of miles away from home. I know you well, Elena, and I can see you're worried. My brother's not the bragging type, so I'm sure he hasn't told you. But you need to know he never abandoned you. He was on a plane every weekend, sleeping on a cot in your hospital room every Thursday through Saturday night, then back on a plane so he could open up shop again on Monday morning. Every weekend for four years, Elena. The doting, the dedication...it's nothing new, Sis. It's not a novelty that's going to wear off. And I'm not just saying that because I shared a womb with the guy. He's made some stupid mistakes, but he's a good man. One of the best,"

Stupid mistakes, huh? I'm left wondering if I'll remember those, too. I wonder if there's more tragedy to our story than he lets on, or if we were ripped right out of the middle of our happily ever after. He seems too good to be true. I mean, every weekend for four years? That's a lot of traveling considering I wasn't making any progress. Wasn't he bored? Wasn't it depressing? Did he ever have to make a choice to keep me alive?

"Who's a good man?" he asks, walking up behind me and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I'm still processing the bit of insight Harlow just shared with me. He could've left me sleeping alone for all that time and waited for the phone call, but he didn't. He stayed with me as often as he could. He practically never left my side.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Harlow teases as she stabs her fork into her french toast and gestures for him to sit and dig in.

He places his hands on my shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. I look backwards at him and smile as I catch his cologne. He's freshly showered and barefoot, wearing a pair of deliciously fitting black jeans and a Charcoal t-shirt. His hair is intentionally messy, just the way I love it.

He rubs his hands together, sits down beside me and stacks a good four slices on his plate.

"Pass the butter, baby," he says to me casually. I catch Erin's smile as I hand him the dish. "So what is this, like the women's breakfast club or something?" He wipes his mouth with a napkin, then walks to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice. He raises the carton to me, silently asking me if I'd like some, and I shake my head no. He's two-fisting the breakfast drinks this morning, and he looks incredibly happy. I wonder if it's because we're here, or if it has anything to do with last night.

Just wait til we get home and I tell him what I remembered. I lick my lips and take another bite as he sits back down. Erin and Harlow bury their noses in the paper and pretend to ignore us. I appreciate the effort, but I've only really known them for a day and I can already tell they're all ears.

Damon tucks my hair behind my ear on one side so he can lean in closer.

"Why didn't you wake me?" He whispers. He's smiling against my ear, his breath tickling my skin. "Wanted all the coffee to yourself, did you?"

I shake my head and smile. I can't keep the heat from my cheeks. My head's spinning just thinking about the way I'm going to tell him what I remembered. I bite my lip to keep myself from blurting it out. I can't wait for later.

"Was I hogging the bed?" It's barely audible; I think I swallowed louder than he spoke. I shake my head _no_ again.

He's so close it feels like he's going to turn my head and kiss me. I'm actually disappointed when he doesn't. He scoots his chair in, takes a big drink of orange juice, and dives back into his breakfast, complimenting his sister's cooking while his bare foot rests atop mine below the table. I know he's trying to play it cool around his family so they don't jump to conclusions, and I'm surprised I actually crave his hands on me.

Andrew stumbles in a few minutes later and wraps his arms around Harlow. Ric follows shortly after, peeling himself out of his wet jacket and boots and sliding onto a kitchen chair.

"What the hell, 'Low? No french toast boats this year?" Ric teases. Their eyes meet across the table and I can see the genuine affection floating between them. And here I thought siblings just fought all the time. He takes a bite of his breakfast and smiles. "Don't mind me. I'm just an ungrateful bastard," he winks. "It's delicious, sis. Thank you."

"How's it looking out there?" Andrew asks Ric.

"The roads should be cleared by Noon," One of the neighbors went out there with a plow on his truck to get a start on it a few hours ago. The forecast is clear, too. So we should be safe to head home once things thaw a bit."

I am ready to go home, but I've had a blast here. It feels like we're on a vacation. Like this is special and as soon as we return back to normal, things will fade away. It's been almost 7 hours and my memory of us in his race car is still fresh and wonderful.

"Or you could stay," Erin tries.

"I think you'd keep us all here forever, if you could," Damon sticks his fork into a slice of banana and smears it in syrup before taking a bite.

"My babies are always welcome home. It's kind of nice having a little noise around the house. You never know how quiet it can be until you have to listen to it everyday. Maybe someday you'll know what it's like." Erin's eyes float around the table She's talking to all of us, but I can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. I've only kissed my husband three times; I can't think about kids.

"Ma," Damon says seriously, shaking his head. His tone is pleading and gentle. I've never heard him speak to his mother in any other way.

I feel the flood rising in my cheeks and feel Damon's foot rub against me again. My fears must be transparent because Erin's already backpedalling. "Oh, don't listen to me, sweetheart. It's just the Mom in me talking. I've got a Grandbaby fever, that's all," she smiles then drains her mug of coffee. "Now who's ready for a little pie? I've got two carmel apple and a pumpkin left and they're not going to eat themselves."

* * *

_**Ten hours later...**_

I'm up to my nose in tupperware. Literally. We just got home from the long, but uneventful drive home and I'm doing my best to maneuver around the kitchen to the fridge. After another few rounds of his mother to convince us to stay one more night, "_just to be on the safe side,"_ as she put it, we managed to get out the door with no fewer than five tubs of leftovers. Potatoes, casserole, turkey, rolls and pie. I could pop the tops of off these, throw them in the microwave and we could eat a full Thanksgiving meal all over again. The food was so fresh it would probably taste as good as the first time...if I had even an inch of room left in my stomach. Right now I've got my heart on something else—the extremely gorgeous man walking through the front door with our duffel bags.

I stuff the containers into the fridge and quickly close the door before anything can fall out. I'm anxious to talk to him now that we're home. We were relatively quiet on the ride back. I fell asleep for as long as he'd let me, but was startled awake more than a few times by the screaming and drums of his music. And his cracked open passenger window. Apparently he was tired, too.

"My God. It's an event to go there," he yawns. "I forgot how exhausted I am when I get back. Too much driving," He plops down on the soft couch and rests his head back on the cushion.

"You're a race car driver, Damon," I smile. "Aren't you supposed to be able to spend an insane amount of time behind the wheel like it's nothing?"

"No fair," he yawns again. "I'm retired," he pats the cushion next to him, calling me over with his smile. My eyes light up and I obey.

"Did you have an okay time? I hope they didn't scare you off too badly. Mom can get a little overexcited sometimes. And Ric is just...Ric. It was nice to see you with Harlow again."

"It was fun," I can't think about anything but telling him. How much longer can I hold it in?

I rest my back agains the arm of the couch and stretch my legs so they're bent at the knees and over his lap. He puts his hands on my left knee and rests his cheek atop of it. Then he smiles, and I almost completely lose my nerve.

Part of me wants to keep it to myself just a little longer so I don't get his hopes up. It's what I would've done before—keep emotions bottled up until I was ready to burst. But I'm not that girl anymore, and I don't think I have been for awhile. I know what it feels like to have someone care for me. To want me and miss me. And I'm starting to feel for him, too. Heat and curiosity and longing...but not just those things. I want to share my excitement with him, too.

This memory isn't just mine. It's ours. It's in his head, too, and I can't begin to explain how that makes me feel. It's a connection I took for granted before my accident, but never will again. I'm giddy just thinking about being on the same wavelength as him.

"You owe me a real trip around the track," I start. He frowns, completely oblivious to what I'm about to tell him. His lips part and he makes a move to speak, but I interrupt before I chicken out. "Altus Speedway. Oklahoma. 2008. You promised me we'd go fast, but we barely got above 65 miles an hour."

He lifts his head from my knees and stares at me. His hands find my waist and pull me up to sit on his lap before I continue. I pull his worn red Badgers cap off his head and push his hair away from his forehead before looking into his eyes. They're big and vulnerable, like he desperately wants me to say I remember. And God, I don't think I've ever wanted to share anything with anyone more than I want to give him this.

"You remember?" He asks, his eyes unblinking. I bite my lip and nod and he lets out a huge breath I hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

"Not everything...just that. And this..." I brush my thumb along his lower lip, "You strapped me in and kissed the hell out of me."

"Like this," his eyes burn hot as he threads his fingers through my hair. He tightens his hands into fists, tugging my just enough to make me moan with want, then kisses me hard and long, like I've just answered a prayer. He sucks my lower lip into his mouth and bites down, and I'm treated to an entirely new side of my husband. A rougher, animalistic side.

His cheeks are covered in coarse stubble as he works his lips down my neck and onto my chest. His fingers work the buttons of my shirt until he gets four open—just enough for him to get his lips on the swell of my breasts. His stubble scratches my skin in delicious ways, and he shifts me down until I'm on my back and he's above me, unbuttoning me further. Kissing between my breasts. Leaving a searing hot trail down to my navel and back up to the hollow of my neck.

His hands slide inside the waist of my jeans at my hips, and his fingers hook into the sides of my panties until he's got them low enough to caress my hipbones. And Dear God. I'm going to come apart just from looking at him. I'm flushed and my heart's racing because my body wants him badly; it remembers the things I can't. Like what it's like to be pressed naked up against him for an entire night. And my mind wants to know it, too, but I also know it's best if we just slow down. Yes, I could beg him to take me in his bed and spend the entire night trying to make me remember. If a few hot kisses yesterday could give me a memory, what the hell would sex stir up?

We move back into an upright position against the arm of the couch. I open my mouth to calm the want flowing between us, but his lips find mine again. We're still in a tizzy, with bare flesh and hands all over the place, but this time his kiss is slow and loving. I'm still sizzling as hands come up to hold my face, and he whispers my name over and over again between kisses.

He pulls away slowly and stares at me again as if I might not be real. As if he's dreaming.

"You really remember that?" He swallows.

I smile and nod and he pulls me into the tightest hug I've ever been given. He turns to the side and lets his body fall into the back of the couch so he's lying next to me with his head on my chest and his arms wrapped around my middle. My hands fall into his hair and I run my fingers through it gently until his body relaxes against mine. He's been lulled to sleep by my hammering heartbeat.

My eyes sting with tears. I close them and issue a silent thank you to whomever saved me from that fire. They gave me this moment with him—a warm, quiet moment that's become my new favorite memory.

* * *

**A/N: Thank You for reading. **


	8. Things We Lost In The Fire

**A/N: WOW! A tremendous thank you to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. :) Your reviews really put a smile on my face, and I loved reading each and every one of them. We've got Damon POV again, starting out in Present Day, then we're cruising right along with some backstory.**

**I've chosen "Things We Lost In The Fire" by Bastille for this chapter's title. Thanks again for reading.**

** Oblivion **

**Chapter 7: Things We Lost In The Fire**

** Damon POV**

"The point is, I said 1970, not 1974. It took nearly a month to get that part in," I snap into the phone. This guy's really testing my patience, but I maintain a level of professionalism. He babbles on for a bit about order numbers and inaccurate shipment verification, but all I hear is _blah blah blah I'm full of bullshit._

"Calling this an inconvenience is putting it pretty lightly," I inform him. "This is a tremendous setback and it needs to be handled immediately. I want the correct part and I want it Next Day Aired to me the second you get your hands on it." I can feel the irritation building inside me, so before my mouth runs off without checking in with my common sense, I rattle off a stiff but polite closing and end the call.

Unreal.

I squeeze my eyes shut and run my hand down my face in an attempt to wipe off the stress. The glow on the shop's OPEN light has been out for two hours. It's nearing 8 pm, which means I'm closing in on my fourteenth hour here. Most of the guys are gone for the day; it's just me and my top mechanic, Adam, trying to bust out some work on this project.

We've been restoring and customizing a 1970 Apollo White Buick SGX for a corporate big shot down in Chicago for the last two months. The job popped up shortly before Elena woke up, and it's easily one of the biggest accounts we've ever had. I put a lot of faith in my guys to run the everyday basics of the shop and get a start on this restoration while I got Elena settled back into our life together. Not surprisingly, they did a bang up job while I was gone. I just didn't expect the guy we ordered the parts from to be a complete imbecile.

I'm patient, but here's the thing. We're three weeks away from promised completion and not even half done. We've still got regular shit to do everyday on top of this project, and the holidays are just around the corner. In order for me to stay caught up with the ownership part of the shop, I'm putting in ten and twelve hour days. That means I'm spending way more time under the bellies of cars and not nearly enough beneath Elena.

So, yeah. I'm irritated.

I love what I do, but I can't practically live here the way I used to. The shop was an amazing way to channel my issues for four years; I swear I felt every single second pass while Elena was away. I was stuck in a windstorm of emotions; Whipping one way, then the next. Worry. Denial. Sadness. Patience. Defenselessness. Rage.

But never acceptance—not even when the doctors told me it was looking grim. Giving up on hope meant giving up on us, and that's something I'll never do. After the initial shock, you better believe I felt a little cocky when they called me to say she'd opened her eyes. _That's right. I knew it all along...Didn't I? _No one needs to know I spent the next hour sobbing.

So, really. I'm not ungrateful for my work. I just need it to go back to normal so the rest of my life can. Sometimes it feels like I only see Elena in bed. Okay, so that's still pretty awesome, especially considering I thought she'd freak when we got home from Mom's. Lucky for me, she hasn't lost her persistence. The guest room's been empty ever since and he hasn't mentioned the friendship-plea in weeks.

She also hasn't mentioned remembering anything else, and I'm okay with that.

The growing want and intimacy between us is incredible, but I miss the rest of it, too. I swear I haven't sat down at the kitchen table with her since last week. I know she's staying busy while I'm at work. Just a few days ago I came home to her pored over a stack of interior design magazines and a completely redecorated living room. What the hell is Feng Shui anyway?

And now this. A few hours ago I had to fire off another text apologizing to her for staying late at work again. I think she's getting a little to used to it, because she sent one right back with a smiley face and a simple _It's okay_.

I'm just working myself into a really good pace around my desk when Adam knocks once on my open door and pops his head inside my office.

"Yo, Salvatore. Your girl's out here with an enormous sandwich," he smirks.

I peer out the window that overlooks the garage and see her standing there in her red peacoat and fuzzy white hat. She's beautiful beneath the overhead lights; easily the brightest part of my life. We make eye contact and she raises one gloved hand to wave. The other is wrapped around a white paper sack labeled _Hungry Head-_my favorite sandwich shop in the world. I toss my phone down on my desk and walk out to meet her. The moment we're close enough to touch, the negative energy buzzes away from my system.

"Have a few minutes? I brought you the King of Sandwiches," She smiles brightly and waves the bag in front of my eyes. That's literally the name, but the way she says it is still adorable. I'm not sure what I'm more excited for right now, Elena or the sandwich. My veins have to to be running with 90% coffee and I could use the food absorb some of these jitters.

"More than a few. We can eat in my office," I gesture toward my door and follow her lead. Once inside, I lower the blinds and move the messy stacks off invoices off my desk so there's room to eat. This is the first time she's been here, so I'm not surprised to see her looking around while I grab her a chair. I wish I'd known she was coming. I would've picked up a bit.

She slips off her coat and pushes up the sleeves of her tight black sweater. Three buttons are undone, revealing a light pink v-neck beneath. She's got on a dark pair of jeans and black leather boots up to her knees. When I catch her pearl earrings, I get a flash of the woman I met in those muddy festival field, and I can't keep the smirk off my face.

"I was out when I got your text and thought you could use a good meal and some company tonight. I know you've had sort of the week from hell," her smile is compassionate, and I feel well cared for. "Was today at least a little better than yesterday?"

"Worse, actually. But I'll spare you the gory details," I unzip my coveralls and step out of them.

Sure, I could complain. I could probably ramble on for hours to her about how shitty things have been lately, and how easy it would be for me to just hand off the keys to Adam or one of the other guys and tell them I'm taking more time off. I know she'd listen, but I don't want to put my stress on her shoulders. She's got enough to worry about as it is. She was sweet to bring me dinner so we could eat together and I'm going to make the best of this moment. I'll take it as a sign that she misses me too.

She releases a breath and a small frown of concern before bouncing up on her tiptoes to give me a soft kiss. Her lips say _I'm sorry, baby_ without a single word, and I don't think can begin to imagine how much it means.

She tries to pull away, but I'm not done. Not even close. My hands push gently into her hips until she's pressed against my desk. I kiss her until we both need air...then I kiss her again. I know she's into it, because her cheeks go pink when I lift her up and set her on top of it. I rest my hands on her thighs and step in closer until I'm between them, then sink my teeth into the sensitive skin on her neck. I think we're getting somewhere when I hear her moan, but she pulls away a few seconds later. Her eyes go wide and she clears her throat as she jumps down off my desk and adjusts her shirt.

"We should wash you up. Unless you like the taste of grease," she says, pressing her fingers to the corner of my lips to wipe away the black gunk. She rubs it between her fingers and sticks her tongue out at me. She's got no idea she's wearing it, too.

"I don't know about me, but _you_ sure seem to," I tease, wiping her off with a clean rag from my cabinet. "Actually, it looks really good on you. I could totally see you as one of my hot little grease monkeys...but I'm pretty sure there's rules against that sort of office behavior. And everything else we just did in here," She blushes scarlet, but there's curiosity in her eyes. _That's right, baby. I hope it's just as hot playing out in your mind as it is in mine. _

I lead us to the sink to clean up, and in just a few minutes we're back at my desk, unwrapping the sandwiches and ready to dig in. There's a reason it's called the King of Sandwiches. It's piled up with any and every meat imaginable; stacked high with cheese and veggies and topped with an amazing secret sauce that I still can't identify.

This brings me to reason #509 why I love my wife—my woman can wolf down a huge sandwich better than any guy I know. Calories...carbs...what the hell are those? The only way she watches what she eats is as it's halfway to her mouth, ready to hit that perfect little stomach of hers. And let me tell you, I could watch her eat all day.

She takes a huge bite and chases it down with some water. I'm happy she's here, but I'm also starving, so I plan to eat first and ask questions later. I look up at her after a moment of silence, and she's got this giddy look on her face like she's ready to burst. I'd know this look anywhere.

Wait a minute. How exactly did she get here?

I'm trying not to be that overbearing husband but it's the dead of winter and she hasn't been behind the wheel of a car in four years. Now's not the time to stretch those muscles. Still, I've got to know. I swallow my bite of The King, and ask with as much nonchalance as I possibly can.

Then I wait. She's mid-bite when I ask, so she nods her head a few times and puts up one finger to let me know she'll answer in a second. When she takes an abnormally long drink of water, I realize she's stalling.

"I took my car," she says and her eyes sparkle naughtily. It's really hard to be upset with her looking at me that way. Here comes the justification. "The roads are clear and it's above freezing for the first time in a week. I've been out all day,"

My mother says I'm pretty easy to read. I guess she's right, because Elena's cheeks flush under my gaze.

"And now you're pissed," She bites her lip, but doesn't apologize. She sits across from me with a bit of defiance in her eyes and says, "That's okay. You can be pissed. I'm here in one piece and I had fun," she takes another bite of her sandwich and licks her fingers one by one. I can't help but smile, because now she's just torturing me.

"I'm not pissed. I thought we decided I'd take you out on back roads in the spring to make sure you're comfortable behind the wheel before you start really driving on your own again."

"Well, yeah. We did. But something came up and it worked out really nicely. I ran to the market and picked up stuff we needed for the house, plus a few additional things I read about in a magazine. I made a trip to that coffeehouse we went to a few weeks ago and ordered a giant, nerve-numbing latte with at least 1200 calories and didn't regret a sip of it,"

I'm still smiling when she continues. Her enthusiasm is music to my ears.

"And then something really great happened. I found a job," she squeals. "And not just any job. It's one I'm really excited about. It's a perfect way to get my foot in the door with this kind of thing."

She scoots her chair in and leans her arms on my desk to get closer to me. Let me tell you, I never realized how huge this desk is until it became the only thing between us. I'm about ready to spread her out on it and throw a Damon and Elena celebration party.

In my head.

But the dirty thoughts can wait til later. She's beaming with pride like a kid who just won a spelling bee, and it's beautiful to see her so excited about something. I grip my edge of the desk and lean in close, waiting for more details. All we're missing is the drumroll.

She's got this big, cheesy _show-off-every-single-pearly-white _smile going on. I wish I could take a picture right now so I could look at it forever. All week she's been actively calling around to places in town to see who's hiring. I suggested she take a little more time to settle in and heal, but she's still the stubborn woman I met all those years ago. I got an eyebrow raise and a hand on that curvy hip of hers. I know she was trying to warn me off of babying her, but shit. Kind of makes me want to misbehave more often.

"Well? Are you going to tell me where it is or not?" I grab her hand and thread our fingers together. "The anticipation is killing me."

"Olivia's Bakery," she finally says, then bites her lip and waits for my reaction. If there's one thing she loves doing, it's baking. Right now, this is her dream job, and I couldn't be happier for her. Even though I was slow to encourage her, I know she needs to stay busy and I hope this gives her a chance to make friends. I can't keep her to myself forever. She's got the ability the light up the whole world.

"A bakery. Now that is awesome," I stand up a bit to lean across the table to pull her into a quick hug. She smells like raspberries, vanilla, and secret sauce. Yes, I'm in heaven. "It's perfect for you. Which part of the shop do you get to work in?" I ask as I settle back into my chair.

"Pastries," her eyes dance. It's like she's just won the lottery or something. Reason #606 why I love my wife—she surprises me every day. "And I didn't just walk into it, either. I dropped in there the other day and filled out an application the best I could. They called me back last night to set up an interview for today. There were a few of us and they set us up with counter space and a pantry and let us go to town. Would you believe they liked mine best?" Our knees are touching below my desk and I can feel her legs bouncing in place.

"Yeah. I can," I say happily. "And I'm really happy you found something you like doing." I love that she couldn't wait to tell me.

"Thank you."

This is what I missed the most. Sharing happiness with the woman I love. I've been wanting to take her out to a nice dinner for awhile now, but this casual night might be just what we needed. I'd really like to take her out on an actual date, so make a mental note to plan a weekend getaway when this car project is finally complete.

We eventually get back to eating, but I can tell she's still buzzing with something. Now that I'm out of my coveralls, I'm sitting in a pair of faded jeans a grey University of Wisconsin T-shirt. Her eyes are stuck on it, and she's got that curious look on her face. A few days ago she asked me how we met, but the questions stopped after I told her she'd been high as a kite.

She frowned, like the truth disappointed her, so I didn't expect her to ask anything else for awhile. That's where I was wrong.

"Have you always wanted to race, Damon?"

"As a kid, yes. And enough to leave school and everything else behind. Yes," I answer.

My heart picks up as she shifts her gaze along my office walls. I'm here a lot, so I've tried to make it as much like home as I can. I've got trophies up on shelving. I've got photos up of my car and of my wins, and it's not just me in the photos. She's gorgeous in black and white. She's curled up under my arm. She's on the hood of my car, kissing me in front of a Las Vegas Casino with a new ring on her finger.

"And I really wanted _you_, didn't I?" She meets my eyes. "Enough to leave school and everything else behind?"

I swallow and smile, because our story is very different than she probably imagines. I have always loved her, but I haven't always been the hero I think she sees now. I've never lied and I've never cheated, but I haven't always done what was best for us.

"I'd like to know what made us run," she asks carefully, not taking her eyes away from the walls. "And about a love so great it could turn the girl I remember into someone worth spending the rest of your life with."

"Baby, you were already running before I met you," I smile sadly. "I'm just lucky you slowed down enough to let me on the ride."

_**California 2008...**_

It's midnight and I'm just getting in from a big win. I pop the tab of a Miller and kick back on the couch. As soon as ass meets cushion, I light up a cigarette and take a big drag. My time on the track has been good, but I've been doing a little street racing with some guys I met and I'm bringing in a pretty good bank roll each time I win. I promised Mom I wouldn't touch my inheritance, but with my winnings I've got enough to hit the road again soon. If I want to make a name for myself, I can't stay in one place forever.

That's why I told Elena two nights ago that I don't plan on renewing the lease on my apartment. I dropped out of school to spread my wings and do whatever I want. To make sure I'm living life by my rules. So far, so good. There's just one problem-I think I'm falling in love with Elena. That's why I asked her to come with me.

I've only known her for two months, but she's like a drug and I don't want rehab. I don't want to give her up. Not for the road. Not for a few wins on the other side of the country. Not for my name in big flashing lights.

I can't get her out of my head, or the look on her face when I asked her to leave with me. My baby's hardwired for rebellion. She talks big and walks big, but deep inside, she's still a little girl trying to make her parents love her. She's still a freshman at Stanford, dolled up in fancy clothes while she pledges a sorority her mother was in. But she comes home to me at night in ripped jeans and a shirt so tight the entire world can see her tits. In my arms, she's anything but proper.

She told me no...she won't come with me, but she won't say why. I'm really sick of thinking about it.

I'm just getting settled into a TV show when I hear a pounding on my apartment door. I answer it carefully these days, as it's not always a friendly face waiting for me on the other side. I see Elena, and it's like I just got socked in the heart.

I unchain the door and turn the bolt so I can let her in. She's carrying two suitcase and when she sets them down inside of my door and reaches for me, I feel her body shaking. I put out my cigarette and get a good look at her. Two black rivers rush down her cheeks and stain her skin. She looks up at me like she never has before. Like she really needs me.

"Elena? What's the matter?" I smooth my hand down the back of her hair. She smells like cigarettes and whiskey, and I want to crawl inside her and rip out whatever it is that's breaking her heart.

"Nothing. Just fuck me," she rasps, slamming the door closed and pining me against a wall. "Hard. Until I can't feel anything but you."

And I want to more than anything, but she's crying. Why the hell is she crying?

Her warm hands dig into my jeans and her lips descend on my like a firestorm. I'm losing my shit because she feels so good against me. I can't figure out what's going on in my own head, let alone hers. And we've never been the type to heal with words.

This time should probably be different, but it won't be. Even now as I'm trying to talk myself into common sense, I'm ripping off her clothes and wrapping her legs around my waist before I even know why she's upset. I've got her back against the wall, and I'm drilling her into tomorrow. I can't even stop to think of the neighbors. I can't think about anything except making her come.

And I do. Loudly.

When it's over, I feel like an asshole. I did what she asked me to, but Elena's not just a warm body. She's smart and tough and doesn't take shit from anyone. Her cheeks are pink with a happy glow when I carry her to my couch and pull a blanket over us. Because sex is _I love you_ right now, and I've just shouted it from the rooftops.

"Now tell me. What's the matter, baby?" I say, lighting a cigarette and passing it to her.

"I'm dropping out of school," she says, wiping her tear stained cheeks with the back of her hand. "I can't do it anymore. Any of it. I want to come with you,"

I pull on my boxers and make my way to the fridge to toss her a beer. I know this isn't what she needs, but it's the only thing I can come up with right now. I wonder if I'll only ever be able to offer her this.

"I can't spend another minute of my life trying to be something I'm not. I did it for years. Did everything they asked and it got me nowhere. I messed around and it got me nowhere. So if I'm going nowhere, I'd at least like it to be with someone I care about," she licks her lips and tangles her fingers in the back of my hair. "And I care a whole hell of a lot about you,"

"It won't be like you think," I warn, rubbing my thumb over her bottom lip. "I can't promise you anything. This is a chance to get away from everything and be whoever we want to be. I don't really have a plan."

This isn't about money. We've got plenty of that between the two of us, but I'd never blow mine on a whim like this and I'd never touch a penny of hers. Not even if she threw it in my face. This is a rich kid's rebellion.

"Good. I hate plans," she says excitedly, but I wonder if she really knows what we'll be getting into.

"I'm talking cheap motel rooms and ramen noodles for awhile. In one city one day and another the next." I better shut up before I end up talking her off it again. I don't want her to change her mind. The idea of us traveling the country together with no game plan and no end in sight is thrilling.

"And long, sleepless nights out on the highway, baby," I add finally. "That's what you want?"

Her eyes light up with playfulness as she pulls the blanket away and rolls on top of me. Her hands run through my hair and she presses down hard against me until I'm completely sunk inside of her again. She moves slowly and her eyes stay glued to me.

"As long as I'm sleeping with you, I'll be fine." She breathes against my lips and I shiver. "Just take me away from my life and give me a new one."

_**Present Day...**_

"And we actually did..." she says softly "We actually did just hit the road and live like that?"

"For awhile," I clarify. "But not forever." I spin her wedding ring around on her finger.

She brings her other hand up to cover her mouth as she yawns, and I know it's time to end the story. The clock tells me it's nearly 9 pm. The way time passes when we're together blows my mind; Minutes turn to hours in the blink of an eye. I heard Adam leave about an hour ago, and I'm far too wound up from all that reminiscing to get any more work done on the car tonight. More than anything in the world, I just want to go home with my wife.

"Come on. Let's go home." My legs are stiff when I stand from behind my desk. "We'll take your Corvette and leave the truck here." I toss the sandwich wrappers into the garbage under my desk and shrug into my coat.

I want to climb into bed with her and show her what it feels like to know someone completely. I want to re-memorize the way she feels and the way she sounds just seconds before she splits apart. I'm a good guy, but even the best guys can only hold it together for so long. You better believe I'm not taking the high road on this one if she gives me the go.

I hit the lights and lock up before we head to the Corvette. She's got the keys and this devious little look that's begging me to let her drive. And hell, I haven't seen her behind the wheel of that thing in far too long. When she throws it into drive, I swear it feels like no time has passed at all.

The questions don't start back up until we're tucked into bed and the lights are off. I was surprised to see her hop into bed in nothing more than a t-shirt tonight, but I'm not complaining. She's snuggled tightly against my chest, tracing patterns into my abdomen with her sharp fingernail.

And then it happens; I feel it coming way before it actually hits. Her eyes darken and I know her head's filled with wonder about all the things I told her about at the shop. About us.

No, I didn't give her all the dirty details, but I did give her a pretty good idea of the big role intimacy played in the beginning of our relationship.

I bet she's wondering what it was like, but I've been hoping it's one of those memories that strike her right in the middle of the experience. That it happens when I've got her laid out under me in our big bed. She'll look up into my eyes and know exactly what it's going to feel like when I make her come. That it'll hit her harder and better than anything else she's ever felt, and every word I've ever said to her will come rushing back into her head.

When the time comes, she'll know that I love her more than anything that ever tried to get in our way. More than racing and the fast life. More than winning and fame. More than time.

"It's not that I don't want you, you know..." she chews on her lower lip and slips her fingers under the waistband of my mesh shorts. If she's not careful, she's going to be knocking into something else in a minute. "I do..." Her fingertips are soft against my skin, but she doesn't give me what I want. Her eyes are wide and honest, and I see honest-to-God naivety in them.

"I didn't expect to feel like this without remembering more," she whispers. "I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this," her fingers continue to rub along my abdomen beneath my shorts. Her words strike a chord in me. Yeah, her hand is down my pants and I'm still fully capable of really hearing what she's saying. I don't need her to say the words to know what she means.

"I know, baby," I tell her.

She's saying she trusts me. She wants me now. Again. Just the way she did before.

Not just the sex...although it was great. I know things have been getting pretty physical between us lately, but I hope she knows I'm not just wearing her down to get her to sleep with me. I know haven't said it, but I hope she understands I won't ever force her into something she's not ready to do.

And no. I haven't said it. I didn't think it was fair of me, but the look in her eyes right now makes me believe I was wrong. I reach for her wrist and pull it up to kiss the inside. I miss her touch like nothing else, but I'd miss this fragile look in her eyes if I took too much, too soon.

I think back to that girl I met so many years ago. I reckless girl who thought no one in the world would ever love her the way she needed to be loved. This is one of the first times I've seen our situation as a gift. I know she believes it somewhere in her head, but she's never heard me say it. I might be the only man in the world who gets this moment twice.

I think I hold my breath until I work up the courage to tell her. I can't count the times the words rolled of my lips, and I can't believe how easily I managed them before because they're stuck in my throat like it's the very first time I've said them to her.

"I know you don't remember, but it doesn't change a thing," I try.

She presses her chin into my chest and looks up at me. It's dark, lit only by the moonlight creeping through our window, but I can see the marvel in her eyes. It's like she knows I'm about to say something big. Something she'll never forget. I think she's holding her breath, too.

"It might be too soon for a lot of things, Elena. But it will never be too soon to make sure you know how much you mean to me," I run my thumb along her lower lip. "I love you. I need you to know it, okay?"

She blinks at me like she's never heard the words in her life.

Her eyes shimmer and she gives me a small nod before her head lands on my bare chest. I can feel every little move she makes against me, so when her eyelashes flutter closed, I don't miss the warm tear that falls onto my skin.


	9. Tangled Up In You

_**A/N: Thank you for the wonderful support as this story continues. I battled the stomach flu this week and spent solid portions of the day sleeping when I'd really meant to be writing. I'm happy to say I'm on the road to recovery and finally able to get this up.**_

_**We've got another Elena POV chapter and this one is a doozy. Really it is. :) **_

_**I chose Staind's "Tangled Up In You" for this chapter. Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful supper through reviews. I really am so happy to be able to read your thoughts as we go along. **_

* * *

_**Oblivion**_

_**Chapter 8: Tangled Up In You**_

* * *

_**Elena's POV**_

_**Present Day...**_

I love Sundays. I mean really, what's not to love? It's the one day a week Damon doesn't wake up at the crack of dawn to go into work. I was hired on at the bakery for strictly weekdays, so weekends are our chance to spend quality time together.

And how can it get more quality than this? I finally taught Damon how to stay in bed past 6. The sun is out, shining bright through our bedroom window. He got up briefly just to brew a pot of strong coffee, then hopped back into in nothing more than a pair of blue boxer briefs and handed me a giant mug. I drained my coffee fast so I could snuggle back into him, and we've been lying here since We're absolutely comfortable. He's propped up against the headrest and I've got my head on his bare abdomen. We're each on our respective tablets, scrolling through news and other odds and ends of the day. Even in silence I can feel our connection.

It's the little things like this that solidify my feelings for him. I'm not just going through the motions like I was in the beginning and these feelings aren't manufactured out of desperation. I feel things for him that I didn't know were possible, and I think I'd choose him all over again if he wasn't already mine.

I'd hoped a confession as big as his _I love you_ four nights ago would've sparked something inside of me. I stared at him long and hard, waiting for a memory that wouldn't come. Instead, my eyes filled with fresh tears. It wasn't until I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep that I realized the magnitude of his words and the way in which he chose to say them.

Of course deep down I had to have know he loved me. No man goes through that kind of mess for four years if he's not in love with the girl. But after weeks and weeks with him, the words have taken on new meaning. If he'd said them to me right after I'd woken up, I don't think I could've really believed him. He was a stranger...sexy as sin but still unfamiliar. But I know it's real now. He didn't rush it, didn't say it out of frustration or desperation for me to say it back. He looked me in the eyes and when he finally said it, I felt like he was saying it to _me_...not just the girl he nearly lost in a fire four years ago. I can feel his love in everything he does. It's not just the kisses or the words themselves, which he hasn't said since. It's his patience and the way he doesn't just expect things to go back to the way they were. He's not forcing information down my throat or getting angry with me for not remembering everything. When he said it, it felt like the first time I'd ever heard it. I just didn't have the courage to tell him I might love him, too.

I stopped paying attention to the content on my tablet about five minutes ago. I've just been staring up at him, focusing on the way he looks when he reads. He's extra cute when he's really concentrating and I'd really like to see him concentrate so hard on me. I move my head a little and I know my hair tickles his stomach because he squirms around and playfully threads his fingers through my hair, moving it to one side of my face. He's officially the best pillow on the planet.

His stomach muscles are strong and I feel them tighten when he chuckles at something on his screen. I smile and glance up to see him grinning widely. How's it even possible that he's even hotter with bedhead? His cheeks are coated in his usual thin layer of stubble. I'm busy admiring him when he sets his tablet aside and looks down at me. His eyes dance with mine and I don't know what it is about this moment, but it sets my mind off like a firecracker and I'm blinded with another beautiful memory of us...

* * *

_"Okay. You were right. They're pretty damn cool," Damon says over my shoulder. His breath is hot against my neck and I turn just enough to meet his gaze. It's midnight and we're standing along the railing of the Bellagio Fountains in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip. He's gorgeous. So gorgeous I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes on the show; the colorful sprays are even more beautiful reflected in his big eyes. Butterflies kick up in my stomach as the music pumps on, and our eyes meet. I feel a cool spray as the closest burst shoots high into the air and caresses us. My back's pressed up against the railing and we're surrounded by a crowd of hundreds, but I can't focus on anything but the way he's looking at me. No one has ever looked at me the way he does. Those eyes have become home to me._

_I stare back at him with complete adoration. Devotion. I want to be the only one to look at him this way. I close my eyes in anticipation of his lips on mine. I'm overwhelmed with emotion when his warm hands move from the rail behind me to grab my sides. We're putting on a show for everyone around us, and I don't care. We break apart and I bury my face in the hollow of his neck, savoring the fact that he's mine. That we're here. That nothing in the world could make me stop feeling the way I do right now. I've never been more sure of anything in my life._

_I'm in love with him._

* * *

"Elena? Where'd you go?" I hear him ask. He's frowning; I can tell even with my eyes closed. I hear the worry in his voice and force my eyes open, even though I know he'll see my tears. I've got to stop this crying nonsense because, Jesus. I'm not sad. I'm elated. I just figured it would've triggered some other way than me staring up at him on a completely ordinary Sunday morning.

My heart flutters just thinking about it. My memory was vivid; so real it was hard to tell past from present. He looks at me much in the way he did back then, and the feelings he evokes inside of me are right on par with what I just remembered.

Hell, I wasn't even sure I'd get a gem like this one back. Now I'm wrapped up in a blend of feelings both old and new, and all I want to do is kiss him and let my emotions work themselves out. I'm burning up just thinking about it.

I blink a few times and let my happy tears fall from the corners of my eyes before I sit up. Yep, he's frowning because he has no idea what's running through my head. He's probably dreaming up a thousand and one horrible I shift the fuzzy blanket off his waist and throw a knee over the other side of him until I'm straddling him. He brings his hands behind his head and looks up at me as if he's waiting for something. We've been in this kind of limbo for a few nights where I can tell he wants to make a move but doesn't. And usually I'm too chicken shit to do it myself, but right now I'm high on a memory and I can't let the moment pass.

My lips descend on his like a vulture on its prey. I hold his chin between my thumb and index finger so he stays in place and I can kiss him as hard as I want. Our kisses have evolved. Sometimes they're hot and other times they're sweet, but this one is entirely different than anything we've done before. I feel strong and sexy and provocative, though I know very little of what I'm doing. I hope this is one of those times my instincts just kick in and I don't have depend on my brain, because I'm firing on circuits, desperate to feel something new with him.

It's no surprise he's hardening beneath me. We've been inching in this direction for a few weeks; we usually just don't stay long enough to see it through. The blankets once bunched around my chest have fallen, and it's apparently all the fuel he needs to sit forward, roll me beneath him and take the driver's seat. I know no better feeling than the roughness of his stubbly cheeks scratching against my neck and my chest as he nips me from the tip of my nose down to my hipbones. It's heaven under his wandering hands. I move beneath him like a woman who knows what she wants and he answers me with a wolflike grin and a growl that's got me wondering how the hell I could forget something as hot as this.

"Baby, you keep moving like that and I swear I'll forget everything I said about going slow," he warns, but his smile is gentle and I know he'd never push me too far if I wasn't ready. I bite my lip and twist my fingers in his hair as his lips work across every inch of me. I know I'm driving him crazy, because with each tug of his hair and he sucks harder until his tongue is tracing warm, wet little circles around one nipple, then the other. When he looks up to meet my eyes, I see flames of need.

He shifts me a little beneath him until his palms are pressing into the pillow and I'm surrounded by nothing but him. He stares down at me like he's going to interject and say something completely unsexy, but I raise up to kiss him before he can get a single word out. Because I know what's coming. It's the _Maybe we shouldn't _speech. And maybe we shouldn't, but I'm hot as hell underneath him and I'm in the type of mood to relearn what it feels like for him to put out my fire.

I know. Terrible analogy coming from a woman like me. But really, my head's a bit of a mess, because I want this so badly but I can't remember getting here. I don't remember losing my virginity, though I know it was to him. He told me a few weeks ago, and I was relieved beyond words. I can't imagine going through that with anyone else. Even now, when it's only a state-of-mind, it hurts to think of being this way with anyone but him. I want to know what it feels like to be completely his.

So maybe it's love, but maybe it's too soon to tell.

"Don't warn me off," I manage between kisses. "I'm a grown woman and I know what I want," I arch an eyebrow. I'm starting to feel a bit of the assertiveness in the bedroom he tells me I once had, and the way his eyes are darkening tells me he likes what he's getting.

"Okay. So what do you want?" He asks seriously, but I can see he's all worked up. He's ready to go, and I can't really blame him. A man can only be so patient, and if I feel this worked up over a few weeks with someone I'm just starting to love, I can't imagine what this moment feels like to him.

"I don't want to talk about the things we used to do and wonder what it feels like. I want to know," I say bravely, because I do. Desperately. I lick my lips and continue, even though I know I could be getting myself into something really big right now. "Stop being gentle and show me what you really want to do to me."

He looks at me for just a moment as if calling my bluff, but my cheeks are flushed and I meant every word that I said. I'm ready to be devoured by him. Absorbed. Consumed. I'm ready to close my eyes and really feel without thinking, because I know I can trust him and that giving into something like this is a bigger step than I ever remember taking. My head reminds me I've only really known him for a few months, but there's something inside of me telling me I can trust him more than I've ever trusted anyone in my life. His eyes tell me everything I need to know—he won't hurt me and he won't fail me.

His mouth moves along my shoulder, biting the soft skin at the base of my neck as his thumbs dig into the waistband of my panties and pull them down. It's strange, knowing we've been this way so many times before but feeling like it's all brand new. His hands smooth down the outside of my thighs, over and over again, each time pulling the fabric further until it's at my knees and I'm kicking it off desperately. I've never been so hot and needy. Or maybe every time with Damon is like this.

"Tell me how I liked it," I rasp in his ear when his hands slide to my inner thighs.

"There's no way in hell we're doing it like that tonight," he smirks and I pout, then his hands pause as he looks me in the eyes. I don't know whether to hug the shit out of him for being so sensitive or slap him for being so cautious. How many different ways do I have to ask him to fuck me before he believes I really mean it. I let out a breath and relax. I'd rather him be this way than just going at me without my permission, but I'm going to talk to him until he really gets its. And I'm going to get him to talk right back, because there's nothing sexier than hearing him tell me how much he wants me.

I learned that two nights ago when he was talking in his sleep. I've been tightly wound every since and it's about time I learn to let loose. What's the worst that could happen? I could find out sex with my husband is as mind-blowing as I've been imagining and realize the surge of emotions running through my system right now has more to do with my feelings for him now than it does the few memories I have of us from before.

I swallow, then say it again. "Tell me how I liked it, Damon." Oh, yeah. This bossiness is totally working in my favor.

"Fast and hard," he says roughly. My cheeks stain scarlet even though I think I already knew the answer. He may have saved the dirty details from previous conversations, but I got the gist of what he was saying. "You were insatiable, baby. A sexy little challenge every single time."

"Make me tell you how I like it now," I say boldly. Courage is a powerful thing. "I'm not afraid," I tell him when he looks at me cautiously before continuing on. My mind and body are screaming in unison that I'd be a fool to not beg this man to work the hell out of me right now.

For a second, I think he's going to pull the blankets over me and tell me he's going to take a shower. I'm glad that I'm wrong. Everything on his face a second ago told me he wasn't going to touch me, but his I'm searing hot beneath his fingers as they work toward my center. He doesn't have much work to do; that memory was enough to fire me up.

When his fingers finally sink inside of me, I embrace the contact like a memory. I can't breathe and I can't think. All I can do is feel. It's better than I could've thought, and I'm not ashamed to savor the moment like it's truly brand new. It is, to me, and I trust him enough to let him see that on my face. He's watching me experience it for the first time all over again, and the combination of gentleness and desire has me losing it. I squeeze my eyes closed and let my mind flash back to the tiny snippet of a memory I had just an hour ago. He stared at me with complete adoration then, much as I know he will be now when I can manage to look at him again.

"Keep your eyes open," he tells me. His eyes roam over me hungrily as his fingers continue to pump deep inside of me. "I want to watch you come apart for me."

And do I ever! The rush inside of me is unlike anything I know. It's a tidal wave of pleasure mixed with a very real understanding of the way he loves me. Then he does it again and when my body is through shaking, he pulls me close to him and tugs the fuzzy blanket back up over us.

"You're really beautiful," he says. My hair is stuck to my forehead when his lips my skin and I feel him smile. "I love that little throaty sound you make,"

His words send fire between my thighs again. I know I'm supposed to be reveling in some sort of orgasmic afterglow, and trust me, it's there. I'm just dead set on getting my hands on him and a chance to give him something he's been missing for years.

"I'd be happy to make them for you again," I tease a my hand moves from his abdomen down into the waist of his boxer briefs. This time there's no question what he's thinking. I see a million things flash through his blue eyes—want, need, frustration, guilt, pleasure. It's like he's holding back what he really wants for my benefit. He has no idea that I want nothing more than for him to climb back on top of me and go to work.

"You're asking for trouble, Elena," he smirks as I roll on top of him once more and slip him through the slot of his boxer briefs. "Seriously, baby. I mean it. Big trouble."

"Oh, I'm hoping so," I tease. Seriously. Where is this side of me coming from? I'm starting to think I was even more rambunctious than he leads me to believe. To be honest, it's kind of awesome. The sparks in his eyes are pretty awesome, too. I make a mental note to pull this one out again next time.

"I mean it. I won't be able to stop if you keep talking like that. You don't know what it does to me,"

"That's kind of what I was hoping..." I shrug and raise an eyebrow as if I'm completely comfortable in everything I'm doing. Really I'm kind of nervous as hell. Not scared, just unnerved. I think he can kind of tell that I really want to get it over with, and if there's anything he won't buy into, it's rushed sex.

"Elena, we can't. I've never set foot in this house with a condom. We never used them. You were always on the pill,"

"And I am now. I've been on birth control for a month," I tell him honestly and he swallows thickly like I've completely stunned him. My God, buddy. It's the biggest fucking green light you're ever going to get. Put it on me.

Here's where it gets interesting. I expect him to give me those sweet puppy dog eyes that say _I'm sorry, but I love you and one of us has got to do the thinking when clearly the other one's head is still between her thighs_, but he doesn't. His hands smooth down my naked sides and he pulls me on top of him until we make contact. He's warm and solid against me. I'm planning what to say when he tries to pull me off him, but I can safely stash those worries away because he's rolling me under him again and staring into my eyes.

"You really want this?" He whispers in my ear. I nod and goosebumps coat my arms as his hands move to my thighs to open them wider. "Because I won't do this if you're only trying to force out a memory. That wouldn't be fair to you,"

"That's not what this is," I assure him. "It wouldn't be fair to you, either." Haven't I tortured him enough? I reach my hands up and clasp them together behind his neck, watching him look down at me. "_I _want this. Me. The girl who just woke up a little more than a month ago. I'd want it if we weren't married...if we didn't have this spectacularly wild past. I just want you, Damon. For no other reason than you're the most important person in the world to me."

All bets are off as he repositions himself and slowly slips inside. He releases a sound that tells me he's found complete bliss, then begins in a steady rhythm that has me building again quickly. It's anything but fast and hard, and to be honest, I'm grateful that he's taking care. Sure, it doesn't hurt like it would if I was really losing my virginity right now, but I'm not expert. I wish I could say I know his rhythm like the back of my own hand, but I'm finding great pleasure with each new move he makes. I ride a long, slow wave of pleasure and he follows soon after whispering my name as he fills me with his heat. He's not only loving me...he's giving me new memories to treasure. Even if I never fully remember my time with him before, I can guarantee our first time was as wonderful as this.

One time is never enough for anything when it comes to Damon, and apparently sex is no different. Oh the things I've been missing out on while I was huddled up in blankets all these nights!

I'm completely blissed out and it's not even 9 am. I'm ready to fall asleep in his arms for a few more hours before we decide to get up and and actually start our day. I've got a big stack of blueberry pancakes in mind and I'd like to do some cleaning up before Harlow and Andrew come over later to watch Sunday night football. That's if Damon ever lets me out of this bed again. I don't know how long it takes, but I fall asleep wrapped in his arms, safe in the knowledge that this memory will never go away.

As I pull out of sleep, I see us again. It's not a dream or a wish. It's a memory. We're young and wildly in love. The moment is hot, but it's not the sex that sticks out in my mind. It's what he says.

_"That's it, baby..." He grips my hips and rocks into me harder. I'm dizzy; seeing stars. I'm going out of my mind with need for him. "I love you, Elena. Let go for me..."_

_ My fists clench the bedsheets and I dig my heels into the mattress. This isn't just sex. It's the biggest connection I've ever felt to someone. He's loving me. Worshipping me. In the moment I know that choosing Damon over everything else in the world is the single best decision I've ever made._

It's the way he says he loves me. It echoes in my mind, warming me over and over again. It's a wonderful memory on its own, but paired with the fact that he said it to me now, it knocks me sideways. His eyes shine the same as they did back then, and drink me in with every push inside of me. Best of all, I've got the same warm feeling kicking around in my chest now as when he said it years ago. I can't begin to explain the way that makes me feel.

I think the memory blitz has worn me out more then the sex this morning. I'm just not realizing the spot next to me is empty. The shower is running and the door's wide open, so I slip out of bed and dash across the room into the steamy bathroom. The mirror is completely fogged over, so I swipe away a section just big enough to assess my morning damage. It's official. I'm a hot mess. My hair's going every direction but the right one and my cheeks are flushed in perma-pink. I look thoroughly worked over and I'm proud to say I am. I give myself a proud grin, then pull the shower curtain aside and scare the living shit out of my husband.

"Holy hell, baby. You scared me!" He yanks me in the shower and shuts the curtain. Once my body gets used to the change in temperature, I relax and take in the view.

Jesus, he's glorious dripping wet. The drips off his dark hair in beautiful waterfalls crashing over the lean muscles of his shoulders and chest. My hands find his shoulders and he's got me pressed up against the tile wall with his hands on my ass before I can issue a word of protest that I'm still sort of clothed. His fingers work the buttons of the now drenched button up shirt I'd pulled on sometime after round two, and he peels the wet fabric away from my body and throws it onto the floor.

He washes my every inch of me with the new flowery body wash I picked up at the store last week, paying special attention to his favorite spots. I return the favor, and I'm filled with the familiarity of his scent as I run my soap soaked hands over his chest. And though I wouldn't mind if it did, it doesn't turn into sex this time. Just feeling his warm body against mine soothes me in a new way I could very easily get used to. Yeah, this routine is awesome. If Sundays weren't already my favorite day of the week, they would be now.

I feel sated as I rub the towel through my wavy hair and slip on a pair of nice jeans and a vintage Packers T-shirt I picked up at the mall on one of my recent shopping trips. I leave my hair in loose waves that reach just below my shoulders, and swipe my eyelashes with a thin coat of dark mascara. I take a moment to myself to really think.

My memories are coming back. If they were really dead and gone, I wouldn't really see the multi-dimensionality of his love. It's past and present. Sickness and Health. It's everything we vowed one crazy day more than a thousand days ago. It's ever evolving but never-changing. It's the kind of love I longed for my entire life. Thank God this mascara is waterproof, because my eyes are like leaky dams just thinking about how lucky I really am.

He's freshly dressed and shaven when walks up beside me. He kisses the back of my neck and reaches on the top of my dresser to my jewelry box. I rarely open it because I know it holds the pearl necklace my parents gave me on my fifth birthday. I don't want to see it. I don't want the memories of false hope to cloud this perfect day. I close my eyes when he reaches inside. It's a porcelain music box and it plays a beautiful classical song while his hands clasp cool chain around my neck. I reach up to feel a diamond studded, scripty 'E' and open my eyes to see it pressed against my warm skin.

"I gave it to you on our first Christmas together," he tells me. "Just six months after we met. We'd been sticking out West for awhile, away from the snow so I could still get out on the track, but I guess the magic of Christmas won out and we ended up driving toward Wisconsin. I was high on love and it was easy to forget the reasons I'd been running. I hadn't spoken to my family in the entire six months since I dropped out of school, so they were surprised when I showed up on their doorstep with my brand new wife." He grins widely, like he loves the memory, and my heart aches to tell him that I've had a few memories of my own.

"We were married before Christmas?" I try to do the math, but no matter how you spin it, we hadn't known each other very long before we said our vows.

"Just before," he says softly as I turn to face him. "Our anniversary is on December 22nd, and I'd like to take you away somewhere for awhile to celebrate if you're able to get the time off work. We'd stay through Christmas and be back before New Year's. What do you say?"

I nod and wrap my arms around him in a big hug. Of course I want to know more details, but finding out gradually is equally fun. There's something new to learn about myself everyday. How many people can really say that?

When I pull away, he's got that starstruck look in his eyes again.

"So. You really had that all planned out, huh? Birth control. Really, Elena. I'm impressed." He smirks and my insides turn to mush.

"It's not like I expected to just fall into bed with you right away. I just wanted to be ready whenever it did happen."

"But you were sure it was going to happen," he says with a cocky look.

"Well you're my husband, aren't you?" I shoot him a snarky smile back, then my gaze turns sweet and real. I thread my fingers with his and swallow, mustering up the courage to let him know how real everything is becoming. How past and present are starting to intertwine and become one amazing puzzle that I'm slowly starting to solve. I'm happy and he's at the heart of it all. He deserves to know he's not the only one feeling this way.

I need him to know that my feelings are real. That I didn't sleep with him to jar a memory or to pay him back for all the wonderful things he's given me. I slept with him because he's my everything. Because he's shown me that there's a goodness in me that I didn't think existed. He's given me hope that one day I'll truly forgive myself for all the things I did along the way, and taught me what it feels like to love and be loved back.

"I had another memory of us. In Vegas, by the Bellagio fountains. They were beautiful, but you were even more so, and I'd really like to go there again with you sometime," I smile. "But that's not the real memory. It's what was inside of me when we were standing there. I felt it. _Us_. I felt everything you've always talked about. It's warm and wonderful and I think I'm starting to feel it now, too. It's the reason I wanted to be with you so badly this morning and the reason I can't stop thinking about you when we're away at work. I don't want to scare you and I don't want to get your hopes up, but it's coming back to me, Damon," I breathe slowly as his hands cup my face. "And I know I said I'd be okay...that I could be happy whether I remembered it or not, but I was wrong. If there's one thing in the world worth remembering, it's loving you."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! **


	10. I'll Be Home For Christmas

**A/N: The busy work season is in full-swing for me, and I'm happy to be able to get an update in, even if I stayed up tip 2 AM to post it :) **

**Thank you very much for the amazing, amazing reviews. Really, I say it in almost every Author's Note, but only because I mean it so much. You all have been really generous with the reviews and I love every one of them. **

**This chapter we're back to Damon POV. There's some history in this one, and some fun present day stuff, too! It's fun writing holiday scenes, so I had a good time with this one.**

**Thanks for reading!**

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**Oblivion**

**Chapter 9: I'll Be Home For Christmas**

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**Damon POV**

_**Present Day...**_

"So what do you think?" Elena's eyes sparkle up at me from beneath the thick branches of our Christmas tree. I hate to break it to her, but I'm not looking at the tree. I'm glued on her...because how could they _not _be? She's completely gorgeous laid out below it with her hair spread across the red tree skirt. Her eyes glow with child-like excitement as she runs her fingers on the short, smooth pine needles and moves an ornament from branch to branch until she finds the perfect place. I swear she's doing her Feng Shui on the tree now, too.

We've been decorating it for almost an hour, but I think she could probably go all night. I strung up the lights outside last night and she's been in full-blown holiday mode since the sky turned dark and she stood before the colorful glow.

"Maybe we need a few more ornaments," she says. The crazy part is she's serious. I'm all about the Christmas cheer, but this poor tree is waving the white flag. It's sturdy, but Elena's plans for it are far more than it can handle. It's practically begging me to reign her in, but she's too damn adorable to not pick her side. Sorry, Mr. Douglas Fir.

"And I think if we put even one more ornament on this thing, the whole thing's going to give out," I smirk. She arches an eyebrow to try to look offended, but she can't keep a straight face for long. Her pretty pink lips widen in a grin.

"You're no fun," she says teasingly.

"Yes I am," I counter with a wink. Her mischievous smile tells me she knows I'm referring to earlier, and so I drain the rest of my wine before I can think of her naked and wrapped in a big red bow under that tree.

Oops. Too late.

"Come here," she calls with a little wave.

I set my empty wine glass down on the end table with hers and turn the volume up on the radio. We've had the holiday music on since we woke up, so this is probably at least the fifth version of White Christmas I've heard today. But I don't mind. If she's going to keep smiling like that, I'll gladly listen to it twenty more.

Once I've got everything situated, I settle in beside her. I haven't laid beneath a Christmas tree since I was about 10, and I'm hit with a wave of wonderful nostalgia from the strong scent of pine. It seems like just yesterday Harlow and I curled up under our big Christmas tree at home when we were 6, convinced if we slept there we'd see Santa Claus. I may be grown with a home and tree of my own, but the moment is no less magical with Elena by my side.

I lace my fingers in hers and we stare up at the tiny, twinkling white and blue lights. Michael Buble's version of _I'll Be Home For Christmas_ comes on and it's like he's singing it just for us. She squeezes my hand once, but we're quiet for the entire song. I'm filled with hundreds of memories of lying beside her in her hospital bed while she slept, holding her hand and praying for some Christmas miracle. Squeezing her hand and hoping so badly she would just squeeze back to let me know she felt it. To let me know she loves me too.

And now she can.

When the song is through, she lets out a breath as if it's affected her too, then turns toward me. Her eyes shimmer with curiosity and I already know what's running through her head. I reach up to bring her hair front of her shoulder and pick a few stray pine needles from the thick brown waves.

"What do you say we put a hold on the decorating and finish off that bottle of wine?" It's almost 9 pm on a Saturday night. I don't intend for the night to end anytime soon, and when it does, I'd be more than happy falling into bed a little fuzzy with that gorgeous wife of mine.

She nods, and once we've scooted out from beneath the tree, she plops on the couch while I pour us refills. She takes a sip and folds one leg under her, making herself comfortable for what seems like a very nice evening ahead.

"Thanks for going along with all the crazy decorating the last few days," she says. "When I was a kid, my parents paid someone to put up our artificial tree and decorate it. I guess I'm just playing catch up," she sips her wine. I can tell her head is threatening to cloud with dark memories of her childhood so I'm desperate to keep the moment happy and light.

"Me, too. I mean, I had trees as a kid, but I've never decorated in here. We moved in after the holidays and while you were away I didn't bother to put up a tree when I was the only one looking at it. I may tease you, but we can decorate this place from top to bottom every single year if you want."

"There was one year when my nanny Joey snuck me downstairs after my parents had gone to bed so I could put out glass of milk and some cookies for Santa. It was something so easy, but it meant the world to me. I was a little kid, so I should've been more excited about the presents, but I swear that was one of my favorite memories from being a kid," her eyes light up with excitement like they always do when she gets a vivid memory; it's like she's in the moment right now.

"I remember wanting to put out sugar cookies, but she insisted on chocolate chip and now I understand why. She ate those cookies. She kept me believing when I had very little reason, and I'll always love her for it."

I smile wrap my arm around the back of the couch until my fingertips flutter lightly on the tops of her shoulders. I'm doing my best to listen because her stories are sweet, but she's so damn pretty I'm starting to lose focus. She's swearing a wide-necked mint green shirt. The material is thin enough for me to feel how warm her skin is beneath it. Because I can never get enough of touching her, my fingers find slide their way under the fabric until I'm met with the soft bare skin. She leans in close until we're just inches apart, but instead of kissing me, she just smiles and digs her fingers into my hair.

I close my eyes and live in her touch. I never really gave up hope, but there was a time last year when I feared I might really never see her eyes or feel this touch again. Her fingers were warm but still, and I'd have given anything for her to move them just an inch to let me know she could hear me. I sat with her for hours, days, just talking to her about what was going on in life. The newest thing with Harlow and how Ric had finally come home. I vented to her about work, and fell asleep with my head pressed next to hers on her hospital pillow. Never in my best dreams did I ever picture this.

I didn't think Elena forgetting me could be a good thing. Sure, it's not all good. I want her head filled with all the wonderful memories of the two of us that I have, but our situation has given me the chance to relearn about my wife that I may have taken for granted. Like how coming home to her is the very best part of my day. Not just because the night usually ends with us naked, tangled up in our bedsheets, but because when something good or bad happens to me, the first thing I think is how I can't wait to tell her about it.

When we were younger, we were caught up in the fast life—not content to slow down until we had no other choice. And while certain circumstances led us to that point, I know we would've gotten there on our own by now anyway. We do this domestic thing pretty well, and if I didn't know better, I'd say we were giddy newlyweds.

I guess we kind of are, if you count the months we've been married while we've both been awake.

Her fingers smooth from my hair and I swear she's about to put me to sleep. Her nose taps mine and my eyes open. She's still staring at me lovingly and I really want to ask her what she's thinking but I can't bear to break this awesome moment. I think I could watch her watch me all day long.

"I haven't been this happy at Christmas since I put out those cookies with Joey," she whispers, pressing her forehead to mine. "Tell me, baby. Were we this happy on our very first Christmas?"

Holy loaded question, Batman!

"We were happy. But I like this Christmas better," I move a lock of hair away from her cheek and smile. If her memories stay missing, I'm not sure she'll ever truly understand our backstory.

I know I've painted a pretty abstract picture of the life we led. Maybe she's got this romanticized version of the two of us driving around with the radio blasting and the windows rolled down. Maybe she's got this idea in her head that we never fought or that I never made selfish decisions, and though I hate to admit it, both are wrong. We all make mistakes; unfortunately, some are bigger than others.

"We're better now? Even though I don't remember?" Her lips screw up in confused smile.

"It's just different. We're just different..." I try.

I'm not sure how else to answer. We were at a different point in our life back then, and some of the things that made it wonderful back then no longer exist. One of the only things that hasn't changed is the way I love her. Wildly, with no regrets. Unconditionally, until the day I die.

So like any other time words fail me, I kiss her. She smells like cranberry wine and her sweet perfume, and the warmth of her tongue against my lips combined with this insatiable nostalgia is kicking up things inside of me I haven't thought about in years. Like the way she looked sleeping against the window the night we drove into Vegas and got married. And the way her eyes shimmered with complete certainty as she said her vows. We were kids, but we were sure. The fact that she's here in my arms, falling into me all over again solidifies that.

I've got the memories, but I don't need them to love her. I've got a feeling if we'd really just met, we'd be falling like this anyway. Sure, it'd be different this time, but I'd be just as sure and our love would be just as indestructible.

How do I know?

Not many people my age have to test out the whole _In sickness and in health, til death do us part _deal. There were a good many times I felt slighted or cheated for the very short time I got to spend with her before her coma. Then I realized how lucky I was that she lived and how fortunate I am to get to love her in the first place.

So while I'm thinking all this, I'm kissing her tenderly and trying my best to express all the emotions floating through my head. Eventually she pulls away and her eyes scurry down to my wedding band. She chews her lips, lost in thought as she spins the band around my finger.

"Our anniversary is in a few days and I've been wondering something," she says slowly and the nerves kick up in my stomach.

Oh, no. Here it comes.

One of these times I'm going to have to tell her why I quit racing. I'm going to have to tell her every single detail of the entire story and I can only hope to God she the look on her face isn't have as heartbreaking as it was the first time around. While I've loved nearly everything about re-educating her on our past, there is one story I'm not looking forward to sharing. Even if it turned out fine.

I swallow and wait for her question, silently hoping it's anything but that.

"Okay. Don't take this the wrong way..." she pauses as if working up the courage to continue. _Shit_, this isn't going to be good. "I know I loved you, but were there any other reasons we got married after only knowing each other a few months? I mean, it's not like I was...I wasn't pregnant, was I?"

Though she's never brought it up before now, I can hear the worry in her voice. I hope this thought hasn't been eating her alive, because if it was, she should've asked sooner. I'm happy to give her the answer I'm sure she's hoping to hear.

"No," I shake my head. "No baby Salvatore's. No obligations. Nothing forced us into the decision. We loved each other like crazy, so we got married, and we didn't give a damn what people had to say about it."

"You mean my parents," she says knowingly. I don't want to bring to them into this again, but I can't pretend I didn't hear her.

"I mean everyone. Your parents. My family. Mom would think I was damn near crazy if I called her up and told her I was about to get married, especially since they didn't even know you existed."

"Did my parents even know?"

I smile apologetically. This is one of the few things I don't know. "I wish I had the answer for you, Lena, but you never told me."

She's quiet, as if digesting that tidbit of information and trying to force out a memory. I can't give her that answer, but I've got so many more I know she'd like to know.

I rub a lock of her hair between the pads of my fingers and she scrunches her nose up in confusion. I take a breath, ready to dive into as much of the story as she'll let me. It's almost Christmas and maybe the greatest gift I can give us a little piece of our past.

There's a tall bookcase next to us, and I lean across her to reach for a thick leather book on the second shelf. I haven't pulled it out since she's been home, but I spent countless hours paging through it during the years she was away. I'm a confident guy, so it takes a lot to make me nervous. This, however, is big enough to kick up some pretty substantial feelings.

She stiffens beside me when I crack open the cover. Together, we stare down at a picture of the two of us kissing. It's black and white and so big it takes up three-quarters of the page. Just looking at it warms me; I think I could look at it forever. It'd be beautiful regardless of the context, but the reason it got headliner is because it's our wedding photo.

_Damon and Elena Salvatore 12-22-2008_ is written in Elena's unmistakeable handwriting. Her hand shakes as she smoothes her fingers over the the black ink beneath the photograph.

"Wow," she says softly. Her eyes sparkle with tears and I wonder how the hell we'll ever make it past the first page. It hits me that this is brand new. She doesn't have the sea of memories that I do associated with this picture, and though she's smiling, I'm sure it hurts like hell.

She's sitting toward the edge of the couch, so I scoot behind her and tug her back against my chest. As soon as she's pressed into me, I feel the tension leave her back. I smile and rest my chin on her shoulder; amazed that we're actually looking at it together. The last time I cracked it open was a month before she woke up. I'd had trouble getting past the first page that day, too.

"I'm wearing white," she says, surprised.

"And you're gorgeous," I say, because there's simply no other way to put it. Her dress is strapless and knee-length, with a thick black sash tied around her waist. She's up on her tiptoes with hear hands in my hair, pulling me down for our first kiss as husband and wife. I even had the decency to shed the T-shirt and jeans and put on a suit and tie. Any stranger can see we're damn good looking, and I remember strutting around the strip that night like I'd just won the jackpot.

"We got married in Las Vegas on a Monday. It was mid 50's and clear, and we made the decision just two hours before the ceremony," I begin. "We'd left Arizona the day before, where I'd just come off the biggest win of my life. You said _Let's go to Vegas to celebrate_ and I said W_hy the fuck not?" _I smile. "We were fast and disastrous and we lived like we were invincible. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt us."

* * *

_**Five Years Ago...**_

"This is it, baby. The moment everything changes," I shiver as the last burst of music rushes through my system. She's stunning in the colored lights, so lovely she overloads my senses. She tastes like raspberries and smells like vanilla, and the eye-full of beauty I get from just looking into her eyes nearly knocks the wind right out of me. I'm lucky as fuck, and I'm can't let another minute go by before making her mine.

I drop to my knee and dig in my pocket for the diamond ring. Once my fingers have a good grip on it, my hand begins to shake. I have nothing to worry about. Of course she'll say _yes_...

"You're fucking crazy. Get your ass back up here," she laughs, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "Seriously, you're going to get trampled." She tosses the cigarette on the ground and steps on it with the toe of her boot.

I pull the ring from my pocket and hold it up to her, and although the crowd is hurrying, I can hear a few gasps and aw's around us. I won't lose my nerve. I can't. I wet my lips and go for it.

"Marry me. I don't know where I'm going and I don't know what I'm doing. I just know I want you by my side, whatever happens. I love you. I'll always love you. Always,"

Okay, so I didn't plan this speech. I should have, because I sound like a broken record, but I read something once that said most women don't remember the actual words a guy says when he proposes anyway. She blinks and her jaw drops slightly. She's staring at me in complete disbelief, but I'm serious as hell. I want to marry her.

But I get it. This is crazy. _We're_ crazy. But I've never felt this way about another person and I know I never will. A few months ago I wasn't sure I ever wanted to get married. I did a shitty job of taking care of myself, let alone taking on responsibility for another person. Commitment was something I figured I'd understand when I was older and life slowed down...when I had time to dedicate to something other than racing or my own dreams. Then suddenly I met Elena and everything changed.

Commitment isn't a chore; it's simple. It's not about chaining myself to one woman for the rest of my life. It's about sharing every single moment, happy and sad, with one person for the rest of my life. And Elena's it. She makes me crazy in the best way possible, and I know I'll never get enough. We run hot like fire; and if it's possible, the makeup sex is ten times steamier. To put it simply, I'm in love with her, and I want the whole damn world to know just how much.

Call it what you will, but this is the best decision I'll ever make in my life. I've had the ring for years, ever since my grandmother passed. She'd never say it, but I was Grandma Salvatore's clear choice as favorite grandchild. When I was 16 and my father pressed her wedding rings into my palm, he made me promise I'd only give them to a woman I really, truly wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

If he could see me now, he'd say I was a mess. But if he could see me with Elena, he'd know I've made the right choice. She's wonderful, and I hope I can make her even half as happy as she makes me.

"So will you? I know it's only been a few months. I don't have much to offer you besides love, but I promise to give you everything you need. This road stuff is going to pay off and one day we'll be sitting up in a big house somewhere thinking back to these crazy nights. And we'll be smiling. Don't you think?"

"Yes," she says softly and her eyes light up.

"Yes we'll be smiling? Or yes you'll marry me?"

"Yes. Both," she laughs and I slip the ring on her finger. As soon as I'm back up on my feet, she throws her arms around me and pulls me into a tight, warm hug. Her embrace is like nothing I've ever known; it's comforting and sexy and leaves me in a constant state of want.

I'm doing my best to keep it under control while we're out in public, but I've got big plans for her later. It hits me again. We're getting married. I'm about to make her Elena Salvatore.

"Let's go," she says excitedly. "Let's go right now."

I arch my eyebrows in surprise. I realize we're in Vegas and there's literally dozens of all night wedding chapels within walking distance, but I didn't think she'd be up for it tonight. It's midnight and right now I'm itching to pick her ass up and carry her across the street, right back up to the twenty-seventh floor of the Paris hotel where our room overlooks these beautiful fountains.

No shitty hotels this time around. Nothing but the best for tonight.

I tried to convince her to just watch this show from our bed, but she insisted we come up close and see the real thing. Feel the spray of the water and let the music rattle through our bodies, submerged in a sea of tourists all interested in the same thing. _It's the atmosphere_, she said, and she was right.

And aren't we just a part of it! I know how it seems. We're a young couple who's known each other just a few months goes off to Vegas on a random celebration and decides to get married. Seems like a fast track to disaster, maybe, but I know better. I may be impulsive and make odd choices, but this isn't one of them. I've known I love her for months. Even when we argue she's the brightest spot of my day.

"How about we go back up to the room, open that bottle of champagne someone accidentally delivered to us and lose these clothes," I wiggle my eyebrows. "We can drink ourselves silly, sleep til noon, then wake up and see where the day takes us. Sound good?"

"Yes. But no," she giggles. "I want to get married. Tonight."

"Are you sure you don't want to process it a little?" I laugh. She's buzzing around like a little firefly, lit up with excitement all over becoming my wife. It's adorable and I'm totally going to cave, but I like to see her squirm and beg a little, so I'm going to play this up.

"What's there to process? You asked I said yes. We find a chapel do the vow thing and we're good."

"Forever," I remind her. "You're not going to like back out of this and want an annulment or something, are you? Because that could get messy." I cringe, but I I know she sees right through me. "I may not always be this handsome. Picture me with no hair and dentures. I'll probably snore. Still want to marry me right now?"

"Oh shut up," she slugs me in the arm and I enjoy her playfulness. "Now come on. Less banter more walking. We've got a lot to do."

* * *

_**Present Day...**_

Oh, God. She isn't saying anything. Her eyes fill up with tears again and I'm worried I've just ruined her Christmas with the story of our impulse wedding. I really hope she says something soon because I'm at a loss right now.

"That memory I had," she spits out quickly. "At the Bellagio fountains. All this time I've been wondering what's triggered these particular moments but now I get it. I kept thinking I was just remembering random things, but really I was remembering how it felt leading up to the moment you proposed to me."

A rush of relief washes over me. Thank God they're happy tears!

"But hold on. Really?" She smiles. "That's really how it went? We just bought clothes, showered and rolled into one of those 24 hour wedding chapels?"

"Yes," I kiss the back of her neck and I feel goosebumps rise on her warm skin. I love that I can still have that affect on her. It's possible her body reacts even more to me now than it did back then.

While I'd been hoping all this time it would come back to her before I could tell the story, there are just some things I can't keep to myself. She knows we were impulsive, but I wonder what she thinks about how quickly we acted on our decision.

"So we got married and then just kept going going like nothing had changed? We just got right back in the car and kept on driving?"

"Yes." I can't manage to say anything more, but the rest of it runs through my head in a soul-cleansing confession.

_Yes, we were basically homeless. Yes. I drove you around, night after night, day after day, seeking success and betting away the money I made. Yes, you smiled the whole time, and I didn't let myself hear the things you would not say. You smoked your cigarettes and drank your whiskey, but baby, you weren't made for that kind of life and neither was I. Yes, if I could go back and change it I would. I would always put you first. I'm just glad I got another chance. _

I want her to know, but I wish so badly she'd remember on her own. There's a chance she may never recall the details and that's why I have to give her the book. It's not just a photo album; it's a travel journal. A diary of us.

"We loved each other like crazy, but we weren't always stable. Living on the road will do that to a person, and eventually it did catch up with us. You deserved to sleep in a nice big bed every night and eat home cooked meals. Fruits, vegetables, all that." I press a kiss to her earlobe and she leans her head back. "And to step into a steaming hot shower with amazing water pressure, not close your eyes and stand under a shitty shower head in Dallas one morning, then do the same thing in Albuquerque the next..."

"It's okay, Damon. I chose it," she says genuinely. This is the first time I've alluded to the fact that our history wasn't all rainbows and unicorns. She doesn't seem surprised and she doesn't seem upset. If anything, she's trying to keep me even-keeled.

"Thank you for this," she lifts the book a little. "I'll take my time with it."

"It's not a wedding album," I tell her and rewet my lips. "It's pictures and diary entries of our time on the road together. You snapped countless pictures with an old polaroid camera and scrawled notes out on the lines beneath them while I drove us around the country. You made me promise not to read it, but I'll admit I broke that promise when you were in your coma. It was the only thing I had left of you. I really tried not to, but eventually I just snapped."

She closes the book and sets it on the coffee table before spinning around in my lap. Her thighs part and she scoots in close to me until our chests are touching and our eyes are locked. She must see apology in mine, because a forgiving smile forms on her lips.

"Are you upset that I read it?" I won't blame her if she is. The one time I joked about it years ago she gave me a glare like I'd never seen. I thought cracking it open and reading it would scare the shit out of her so much that she'd wake from her coma just to yell at me.

"I'm not even sure why I'd want to keep it a secret," she admits. "But no. I'm not upset. And even if I did remember what I wrote in there that I wanted to keep private from you, I wouldn't be upset. God knows if I was losing you, I'd want to hold onto any little remaining piece I could."

She blinks at me, completely oblivious to the way her words just affected me. I wouldn't expect her to remember. God, she barely remembers her own life let alone every last detail of mine. I just can't shake the feeling that she's right on the edge of recollection on this one. The oddest things trigger her memories, and while it'd be so much easier if she just knew on her own, I'm not looking forward to the moment the information finally hits her. At least she knows how it ends.

"Did you ever figure out why I wanted to keep it a secret?" She bites her lip as if she's afraid of the answer.

"I think so," I smile, thinking back to the moment. It's not a bad one like she may think. "And if you read through it someday, you will too."

"That day isn't today," she yawns and presses her forehead into the hollow of my neck. She stays there a moment, quiet and warm, and I tug the quilt from the cushion besides us over her shoulders. "Today I'm drunk on wine and old stories and really just want to stare at our amazing Christmas tree and fall asleep."

Her yawns are contagious and she smiles as I bring my hand up to cover my mouth in turn. She kisses me once, then rolls off my lap to settle on the cushion beside me with the blanket pulled over us. It's a good 4 degrees outside and it's a miracle it warmed up enough yesterday to string up the lights.

"I need some serious sleep for what's ahead tomorrow," she yawns. "I was all confident about it before but to be honest, I'm getting kind of nervous that I won't be able to pull it off. Think we're in over our heads?"

"It's not like you're cooking for the whole county or something," I wink. "It's just my family."

"I know," she yawns again. "But it's the first big meal I've ever had to make and I'm feeling the pressure,"

"I'll give you pressure," I tease. No, really. I will. Wine can do no harm to this libido.

"Oh stop and behave a minute," she laughs. "Seriously, though. What was I thinking when I offered to host the family Christmas this year? I got all caught up in the holiday adrenaline rush and now I'm starting to crash."

We leave in three days for our surprise getaway, so we decided to organize a Salvatore Christmas party before the actual holiday. Mom has no problem celebrating a little early if it means Elena and I get to spend some actual time away together. I thought Elena's offer was sweet, and Mom was thrilled at the idea of doing it at our house. Something about us really settling down.

"I hope you're ready to peel some potatoes first thing tomorrow morning. I hear wine hangovers are a bitch," she adds. "Or are you immune to those, too?"

I laugh and savor the simplicity of the moment. I mean what I said about this Christmas being better than our last. There's something to be said about snuggling up on the couch under a warm blanket in front of a big, brightly lit Christmas tree. There's nothing quite like the feeling of being home with the one I love, listening to classic Christmas songs on repeat.

She's just starting to doze off when Mariah Carey's version of _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ comes on. And, Jesus. It's true. I can't help but be warmed by the moment, because it's so true. We've spent more time apart than we've ever spent together, but I'm as sure about us now as the day I asked her to marry me; She's all I want.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I'll be working to update as soon as I can. Aiming for next week. **


	11. To Make You Feel My Love

**A/N: Happy Holidays! I'm not sure I'll get another update in before Christmas, so I wanted to say it now. We're headed into this chapter in Elena's POV. I enjoy writing in both POV's for different reasons, and I really enjoyed working on this chapter. My muse was happy and it came together smoothly, so I'm happy to get it out there for you. **

**I chose "To Make You Feel My Love" for the title of this chapter. It was written by Bob Dylan and originally recorded by Billy Joel. Others have performed and recorded it as well, like Adele. But my favorite version is by ortoPilot, who you can check out on Spotify or iTunes. **

**Your reviews continue to inspire me and I thank you for taking the time to let me know your thoughts. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Oblivion**

**Chapter 10: To Make You Feel My Love**

**Elena POV**

**Present Day...**

"And so you just sit out there in a tent, freezing your ass off for hours?" I ask, twirling the stem of my wine glass between my thumb and index finger. It's empty again, and I eye the chilled bottle in a tin ice bucket just a few feet away.

"Yes. That's right," he says with a grin. I can't fathom why someone would enjoy this, so I dig a little deeper and ask a few more questions.

I'm warm and hazy from the local red wine working its way through my bloodstream and I easily lose my train of thought to a fit of giggles when he smiles at me.

"And you do this willingly? Year after year?" I know I'm repeating myself, but I need some confirmation here. Everything he's telling me points to _completely insane_ and I've got to be sure I heard him correctly. "And you just walk right out there, saw a hole in the ice and wait," I add, matter-of-factly. "For fish."

"Yes, baby. That's why it's called ice fishing," his light eyes widen playfully as he grabs my hands and pulls me forward until I crash into him, sending a huge splash of water outside of the bubbling hot tub. I grab onto his strong shoulders to get my balance. "And you don't really just wait. I mean there is _some_ skill involved," he licks his lips and looks up at me through his wet, dark eyelashes and it's like a shot of euphoria right to my veins. He's mine. And I could stare at him like this all night.

"Your glass is empty," he frowns. "We better fix that,"

Honestly, I'm really fuzzy and really don't need even one more sip of alcohol, but I've got the best seat in town when he rises above the water to reach outside of the hot tub to grab the bottle of wine. He pours us refills then sets them on the grey slate surrounding the porcelain tub. His smooth skin is covered in goosebumps and he lets out a sigh of relief when he settles back into the hot water with me. Are we sure I didn't die in that fire? I didn't think it was possible to be this happy.

Maybe it's the alcohol or the fact that he swept me away from everything and brought me here – a cozy little bed and breakfast in Door County, Wisconsin – but I've never felt more treasured than I do right now. We're completely isolated from the rest of the guests, off in our own little hayloft cottage at the edge of the property. We're on the second floor and we've got a killer view of Kangaroo Lake. It's completely frozen over, and I'm memorized by the light snow swirling around just outside our window. The thermometer reads 25F and I'm happy to be snuggled inside with Damon.

We got here around 10 o'clock this morning and spent the day touring wineries and breweries, selecting bottles to purchase to take the memory of this trip back home with us. It's odd, but this is the first time we've actually gone out and done something together. We've spent time with his family and had lots of time together at home, but it's wonderful to get away from it all and celebrate us. Our revival.

Now it's sunset and the the sky is turning from blue to orange to yellow. It's an explosion of colors in the sky, and maybe it's the wine talking, but as I lie across from him watching the clouds shift and fade away, I'm reminded of the simple fact that no two sunsets are alike. Just like no two days with him have been the same. I get to learn something new every day, and while it isn't always easy, it's never short of incredible.

His skin is pink and hot from the water, his hair a little damp from the steam rising around us. I thread my fingers through his thick hair and work it different directions, using the water to make it stay. My heart's on overdrive from the way he watches me. I don't think I could ever come up with the right words to describe how he's making me feel, so I press kisses along his stubbly jawline until his head tips back and he's staring at the ceiling with his fingers dug into my hips. Although I've only known it for a little while, I crave this natural intimacy between us. He kisses me harder and tugs me closer, until I'm nestled in his lap under the hot water, tipsy and falling deliriously more in love with him every moment we're together.

My fingers slide through his hair and my nails bite into his scalp. I'm starting to lose myself to my need when I bump into a little ridge at the back of his head. He continues to kiss me, but tries to pull my fingers away from the spot. Now I'm obsessed. What's with the bump and how did I not notice it before? My head's spinning with questions. I just can't stop worrying. We pull apart and I search his eyes questioningly. It's obvious he knows what I want to ask, and I hope he'll tell me before I have to try. A million terrible things run through my mind, and he must see it in my eyes because his shoulders relax and he kisses my forehead with a sad smile.

"It's just a scar, Lena," he says. A scar. Okay. I'd be a lot more relaxed if his voice hadn't wavered when he said it. Now I'm wondering about the rest of the story. I picture a tiny Damon running around his house with Harlow, knocking into the corner of their kitchen table. Next I imagine the twenty-year-old Damon from my memory, drunk and falling on an icy sidewalk, cracking his head open on the hard cement.

"How'd you get it?" I ask.

"An accident," his lips curve up in that smile that says he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. He usually lights up at the opportunity to talk about his past, so I won't push him the one tim he doesn't want to. It does worry me, though, because if it wasn't a big deal he'd just come out and say it. I've got a sick feeling it has something to do with me. It's one of the first times I've felt like he's actually keeping something important from me, and it hurts.

He can't look me in the eye right now, so I know I'm not imagining it. His fingers busy themselves rubbing the tips of my hair as he seems as lost in thought as I feel.

"Okay," I say softly.

I don't want to hurt on our anniversary or any other day, so I close my eyes before they can well up with tears that will certainly take the sweetness out of this otherwise perfect night. I will ask him soon. I hope I'm wrong in thinking it's about me, but if it is, I think I deserve to know. I know he'd never lie to me, but I can see him leaving pieces out of the story if he thinks they'll hurt me. He's protective of me and I'm grateful, but I won't break. I'm not sure what would be worse – him telling me or me remembering on my own.

"Maybe we should get out of this thing. You're wrinkling up like a prune," he teases, pecking me on the nose. I open my eyes and just like that, the sadness is gone. I shiver when my wet skin hits the air as he lifts me from tub and carries me across the room to the bed. I let go of my temporary troubles and get my head back into the sweetness of the moment, enjoying the way he dries me off with the large, plush towel.

If he had his way, I'd never get dressed. But the little heater in this place can only do so much to keep us warm, so I slip on a pair of yoga pants and a thin cotton long-sleeved shirt before settling under the covers. It's too early to sleep, but there's no television and no internet connection. This place wan't built to cater to business people. It's a hideaway from all the hustle and bustle of the outside world, as a place to remember what's really important.

"You ready to head home tomorrow?" He asks, climbing in beside me.

"Yes and no. This place is amazing, but it will be nice to spend Christmas at home. And I've got presents waiting for you," I happily announce. I'm actually really excited about it. I'm not sure what his reaction is going to be, but I went with my gut instinct as I was out Christmas shopping. I couldn't control myself as I threw countless things for him in my basket. I see so many things that remind me of him. But when I saw the one,main gift I'm giving him, I knew I had no choice but to indulge.

Which brings me to my current issue. Not only did I have to find the perfect Christmas presents for him, I also had to shop for our anniversary. Because he's Damon, he told me not to get him anything, but because I'm _me_, I didn't listen. He's still not thrilled about me driving out on the snowy roads, but we compromised when I agreed to take his pickup instead of the Corvette. I scoured the neighboring towns for days, searching for just the right thing, and I'm still not sure I found it.

What do I possibly get for the man who completely changed my life? There isn't a present in the world that could do justice. I wish I could bottle up these feelings for him and wrap them up with a tiny little bow. Maybe then he could really understand what he's done for me.

"Speaking of presents, I think it's just about that time," he smirks.

"Okay. You said no presents. This trip was enough for both of us," I remind him, even though I've got something tucked away in my duffel bag for him, too. It's fun to push his buttons a little sometimes, just to see what he'll say next.

"You should know by now that I break the rules," he says, reaching to the floor and pulling something out of the pocket of his crumpled jeans. The motion reminds me of the unforgettable hours we spent in this bed before our trip to the hot tub, and my heart slams at the memory.

When he comes back up, he's got something clenched in his fist and I immediately panic. Dear God. It's tiny, which means it's probably expensive. Probably earrings or a necklace or something way more elaborate than I got for him.

I asked Harlow to help me organize something for him, since she knows the kind of things he likes, and we came up with something clever, but I'm not sure it's going to beat whatever he's done. Like I said, this relaxing trip would have been enough.

He's got that look on his face that says he's got an Ace up his sleeve. He's so good at making me smile that I don't even have to wonder how amazing his gift is going to be.

He's also really good at making me wait.

"Do you know," he says, spinning the rings on my finger. "That I love you even more than the day I married you?"

I shake my head slightly and smile. He's sexy and cocky but I know this isn't just a line. I can see in his eyes how much he believes it to be true. This can't be my life. No way. It's too fucking fairytale. Oh, who am I kidding? I love it!

"Since it's our anniversary, we're supposed to think back on our time together. I know you don't remember it, and since I do it's only fair I paint you a picture of now vs. then. Okay?" He presses a kiss on my lips and I nod, gloriously happy to just listen to him talk.

"Us now - totally domestic, right? I mean I'm married to this generations young, sexy Betty Crocker. We're content to eat pot roast at home and hit the bed by 11. And honestly? I couldn't be happier. I'm incredibly happy."

_Swoon._ I can't help but smile when he really gets going about something. Especially us.

But when his mouth goes slack and his eyes flare up with something entirely different, I'm worried that he's about to tell me something I don't really want to hear right now. I see apology all over him, and before he even says it, I want to pull him in my arms and tell him it's okay.

"Back then we were just a couple of kids high on love and possibilities. But I didn't cherish you the way I promised I would in my vows, because I don't think I really understood. I wanted you, forever, but I was selfish to believe you'd really be content staying on the road for years. And you weren't," he says honestly. "But I was addicted to winning and I ignored all the signs. For awhile, you didn't come right out and say you were unhappy and it was easier to just pretend I couldn't read between the lines. I think you were afraid of disappointing me, but I'm the one who let you down. Us down," he tells me apologetically. "I should've listen to you the first time you asked me to stop racing."

I'm taken aback by this bit of information. I've been wondering what made us settle down, and if the end of his racing was directly related to me. I'm hit with a pang of guilt knowing I may have ended his dream, but he tells the story like an apology, so there must be more to it than a selfish request.

My eyes widen as I remember just a flash of what he's referring to.

"_Stop. Stop and listen to me. Please, Damon. Just come back and listen. Don't do this..." _

It's not vivid, just a recollection of exchanged words and a feeling of desperation to get him to stay. Looking at him now, it's hard to believe he'd ever make me feel that way. He must see a bit of recognition in my eyes, because he suddenly looks a little worried.

"Do you remember?" He asks sadly. As hard as it is for me, I'm sure it's hard for him, too. He's trying to be honest but I know he doesn't want to relive it. He's torn between being real and keeping me blissfully happy, but what he doesn't know is that I'm hungry for the past. I want to know all of it, even the hard parts. Because we were strong enough to overcome it and end up here today.

"No. Not really," I say honestly. "If you loved it so much, why would I ask you to stop?"

"Because you loved _me_ and were afraid. It was dangerous, but I didn't want to believe it. I was running with the wrong guys, doing illegal street racing and blowing our money on bets I'd never win..." he admits, and I close my eyes and try with everything I have to remember.

_"I'll be fine, baby. You worry too much. It's not a big deal. I always win..." _I think I can hear him say.

I close my eyes and search inside of my heart for a deeply rooted ache I didn't realize existed. It's frustration and devastation at the thought of him getting hurt. But it's not anger or resentment, the way he makes it seem. If anything, I was swimming with panic at the mere thought of losing him.

It gives me just a glimpse of what he must have felt when he almost lost me.

"And you were right, baby. I should've stopped," he says, reaching back and rubbing the back of his hair. "It was dangerous. But I didn't stop until I had no other choice. And you stuck by me the entire time, without even one _I told you so_."

I'm firing on all circuits, trying to figure this out. Trying to remember. I get the feeling it's going to make me sad, and I really don't want that today. So I do the unthinkable. I ask him not to tell me about it tonight.

Stupid? Maybe. He's been really sensitive about the whole racing thing this whole time and I should nab the opportunity to talk about it when he's ready, but we've got a long time to sort through all of that. Besides, it won't change the way I feel. And he'll know that soon.

"Today is all about us. Nothing is as important as us," he reaffirms. "Which brings me to this," he announces as he opens his fist to reveal my gift.

"Happy Anniversary, Lena."

He hands me the box and my hands tremble as I take it. It's small and wrapped in shiny silver paper with a perfectly looped metallic red bow. Once the wrap is off, I realize I'm holding a black velvet jewelry box. I look from him to the hinge then back, then spin it around so I can crack open the front. My breath catches in my throat when I see it. It's not a necklace or pretty earrings or a bracelet. It's a ring- solid white gold with little diamonds running around the band.

"I always thought you got kind of cheated, you know, getting both an engagement ring and a wedding band on the same day. Two birds, one stone...all that," he smiles. "I bought this one a few months later and wanted to give it to you on our first anniversary. I even brought it to the hospital room, but I couldn't bring myself to put it on you when you were sleeping and wouldn't know. I needed to see your eyes. I get to now, and it was worth the wait."

Said eyes are leaking like an old faucet. He's gorgeous behind a sea of emotions. I'm trying to focus. I promise I am. But this is the kind of romantic gesture I've only seen in movies. I never thought it would happen to me. It's the kind of love my Mom said didn't exist in real life so I shouldn't waste time looking for it. But she was wrong, obviously. And although we didn't really get along, it's sad believing she probably didn't love my father this way.

Maybe I'm just one of the lucky ones.

He reaches over to pull it from the box, then takes my trembling hand and slides off my engagement ring so he can slip the new ring on to sandwich it between my others. His warm fingers stay on mine, and I keep my eyes focused on the diamonds. I know if I look up at him I'll really lose it, and I also know that would be okay. He hasn't said anything in awhile and I realize that while I've been doing a celebratory dance in my head, he's still waiting for a reaction.

"It's amazing. Thank you, Damon. I love it."

"It's a new promise. A promise that I'll never let you down again. That I want you as much as the day I asked you to marry me and I'll only want you more as the years pass. I want these years with you, Elena. I can't ask you to marry me because I already did. But I can ask you to believe that I'll make good on my promises and I can tell you I'd go back and marry you all over again if I could. And we'd move into our house sooner than we did and we'd have as many babies as you wanted..."

He stops quickly like he's said too much, but I'm hung up on the very last part of his profession. Babies. Was that something we'd been working on before the fire? Wow. I can't breathe. I'm heady from all the ups and downs of the last hour and I've got visions of this beautiful man pressing kisses to my rounded belly. And wow. I can't. I've got to change the subject and fast.

It's not that it's not a pleasant thought. It's a wonderful thought. Down the road. When I've got my head back on straight and we're even more established than we are right now.

"Okay, now it's my turn," I say quickly to get on with things. He gives me a confused look, like he didn't expect me to get him anything. But there was no way in hell I could let this special day pass without letting him know how he makes me feel.

Earlier, while he was in the shower, I shoved my gift under the bed so I could pull it out to surprise him. I guess I slid it further than I thought, because I'm hanging half off the bed and I still can't reach it. I'm not surprised to hear him giggle and feel him slap my ass before I actually get my hands on the gift. I haul myself back up and give him a playfully stern look before handing him the package.

"What?" He asks innocently. "You were asking for it, sticking your ass up in the air like that," he shrugs. "I see you like breaking the present rules, too."

"Yes," I smile. "And you can thank your sister for helping me find everything and getting it all put together the way I wanted. She really is sweet,"

His blue eyes widen in surprise. I hadn't told him I'd spent time on my own with Harlow, but I know he's been dying for it to happen. He tells me wonderful stories of how close we were. How she was the sister I always wanted, and after spending an afternoon with her, hitting little local shops and coffee houses, I know he's right. She's got a contagious laugh and a warm personality and she treats me like I imagine she always has. Like she trust me with everything she's got.

My stomach flips when I pull the bag up onto the bed. Now that it's actually time to give him the gift, I'm nervous. I feel like I should preface this with a big, romantic speech or something, but the words are jumbling in my head so I hand him a wrapped package before I can chicken out.

He smiles and gets to work on the first one. My heart's about to beat out of my chest when his fingers slide under the tape and he's faced my handwriting on the tag.

"Happy 5th Anniversary, Damon," he reads aloud and my cheeks heat. He looks at me once with a smile as wide as a child's then digs into the the gift, a small mahogany corvette. His fingers smooth over it lightly until he feels the engraving on the belly of the car.

"Sparrow," he says smiling. "Elena, I love it. Thank you,"

"I know she's more of my car than yours, but I know she's been with us since the very beginning, and it just seemed like a nice reminder. I thought you could keep it on your desk at work. The traditional gift for the fifth wedding anniversary is wood," I tell him.

"Now go on and open the others," I wave toward the small pile between us. He hadn't noticed it before.

"There's more?" He laughs. "Way to outdo me, baby." I shake my head and get ready for his next surprise. He leans over to kiss me once, then starts in on the second gift. His eyes widen as he opens a box of chocolate covered strawberries and the second card.

"Happy 4th Anniversary," he says slowly, and this time his voice gives out a little. "Elena..."

I've seen him cry. I know the sound he makes, the thickness of his voice just before the tears fill his eyes. And I'm touched knowing that by the end of this, I'll see it again. We've only just begun.

"The fourth anniversary is fruit. Not very exciting. I at least wanted to sex it up a little," I tease. He stares at me like I've just given him the best gift in the world. "It's only strawberries," I say sweetly, reaching up to touch his cheek. But he swallows and sets them aside to start on the next.

By now he's figured out why there are three presents left. He doesn't read the script out loud this time, just slides the leather wrist band on and kisses the hell out of me. "You're incredible."

I smile back and watch him open the faded grey cotton University of Wisconsin Alumni T-shirt.

"Happy 2nd Anniversary/Graduation..."

His hands stop and he swallows when he looks at me. He takes a deep breath, like I've just uncovered a secret.

"I saw your diploma hanging up in the corner of your office. I know you went back and finished when I was in my coma. It's not something you should feel you have to hide from me. I'm proud of you," I tell him. "Just because we ditched out on it the first time doesn't mean you can't change your mind. And I get it. You needed to make a life for yourself, in case I didn't come back." Now I'm the one with the shaky voice.

"Thank you," he manages, squeezing my hand.

My stomach's swirling harder than ever knowing we've reached the final present. This is the big one, the very reason I'm nervous to begin with. I let out a breath and close my eyes as he unwraps the final box. There's no card attached this time and I can tell he's confused when he finds nothing more than a blank piece of paper inside.

"Paper," he says. "The traditional first anniversary gift..."

"I wanted to write something on it, but I couldn't. I sat down for hours one night that you were working late, but I came up blank. Just like this paper. It's not that I don't know what I want to say to you or how I feel. My feelings are one of the few things I am confident about right now."

Tears spring to my eyes. Oh no. Here we go. "I've got a pretty good idea of how we spent our first four anniversaries. We've never talked about it, but I know you were right by my side for every single one of them, just as you were by my side on so many other ordinary days. Your Mother and Harlow confirmed it, but my heart knew before they ever said a thing."

My mouth is dry like cotton, but I've got to push through. He's staring at me, completely entranced like every word I'm saying is more important than the one before it. We're facing each other, sitting with our legs folded under us like a couple of kids with all of my gifts between us, and it dawns on me that this _is_ the single most important thing I've ever said to him, and no matter how it comes out, it's going to be right.

"I can't imagine what it was like for you when I stared up at you for the first time in four years without a hint of recognition," I swallow. "I was afraid at first, you know. Maybe you couldn't tell because I tend to hide it well, probably from all the years I had to when I was younger. But I wasn't afraid of you. I was afraid I'd never figure out who I was in those missing years, and scared the fire had done damage that I could never fix. But I have you..."

I say, taking his hand before I continue. "And I've had you all along. I may not have opened my eyes and I may have been stuck inside my own body, fighting to get free for a really long time, but some nights were warmer than others. I didn't understand why then, because I didn't remember you. But when I opened my eyes looked at you...when first spoke and told me you were my husband...I got those same warm feelings. I've known all along that I can trust you, even if I didn't know your name. So all those nights you felt like I couldn't hear what you were saying, you were wrong. I heard you and felt you, even when I didn't know who you were.

"I wanted to write you a letter on this piece of paper, telling you that I really do believe I only woke up for you. Because I loved you. Even asleep, I could feel you love me...just like I can feel your love right now," Okay. If I don't wrap this up shortly I'm going to be a blubbering mess. So here goes. I send a big _fuck you_ to my nerves and let it all out. I'm Elena Salvatore, damn it.

"I'm in love with you. Right now," I say and the tears finally escape from both of our eyes. "Happy Anniversary,"

He sets the piece of paper down on the bed next to us and pulls me onto his lap. His arms are wrapped tightly around my middle and I can barely breath when his lips crash into mine. I'm blitzed with affectionate kisses; the knee-weakening, heart-melting kind that make me want to tear my clothes off and connect with him. I just might.

"I love you, too," he says happily. His lips are sweet from the wine, his touch intoxicating as the back of his hand runs gently over my cheeks. "I still can't believe you're here."

I shift in the bed, ready to pull him down on top of me. The heat stays in his eyes, but it's paired with something even better. Real, solid love. He must stare at me for a good minute before he kisses me again. I get the feeling he's taking it all in. Processing it as fully as I am and savoring each moment.

I'm not sure I could've dreamed up a better anniversary than this. I would've been fine staying home in our warm house, surrounded by our things and our own bed. But as I'm learning with each day, he's completely unpredictable. He says things and plans things that I couldn't have imagined I'd experience. I haven't reopened my photo journal since he gave it to me the other night, but with all the pieces of our history he's giving me, I know I will soon.

Even if they're just pictures to me and nothing more. Even if I can't remember the exact way I felt the exact moment we took the picture or the feeling in my stomach as I scribbled down my thoughts on the road. They were still my thoughts and my feelings and regardless of the fact that they'll play nothing into the way I love him now, I'm interested to know more about myself in those missing years. If I can be pissed about one thing right now, it's that my brain has somehow taken away the very best years of my life and left me with the crappy ones.

He rubs my nose with his before looking out the big window.

"The snow stopped," he says softly, staring at me from across the bed. "It's only 7:30 and I don't know about you, but I'm not really tired." I watch as he fiddles with the leather band on his wrist, and I make a mental note to thank Harlow for helping pick out something he'd like. I also take a moment to appreciate how good he looks with _just_ my wrist band on.

All too soon he's up and slipping into boxer briefs and a pair of jeans that fit him just right. Sadly, the throws a black button up shirt on over his head, and I stare at him with a questioning smile, wondering why he doesn't just undo the buttons.

"I'm not really tired either, I guess," I stifle a yawn because I'm really not. Regretfully, I get dressed. I should really look in a mirror because I'm sure my makeup's smeared and melted from the steam of the hot tub and the movement of his fingers across my face. I take a quick peek and sigh as I notice the disaster that is my hair. I twist it up in a messy bun and throw on some vanilla lipgloss to feel at least a little more presentable.

"Since you're getting so dolled up, why don't we do something?" he says, coming up from behind me. He looks so put together right out of bed, and it's incredibly unfair that bed head makes him even sexier. I roll my eyes and he winks, teasing me. He always tells me I don't have to get fancy just to hang out with him, but he doesn't get it. Maybe I don't have to impress him, but I want to.

"So what do you say we head out to The Elkroom for a little while? We can kill some burgers and fries and see what that band is all about. What do you think?" He asks, straightening the three rings on my fingers until they're centered.

The wine is slowly thinning from my blood and the more I think about it, I am pretty hungry. Damon told me about this cool little bar in a lodge down the road that brings in local musicians. Tonight there's an alternative country band there, and I know he must really, _really_ love me because he really, _really _hates country music.

"I think if you're this amazing after five years, I can't wait to see ten," I say and my fingers with his as he opens to door and we head out into a beautiful, snowy wonderland. I get it now. I can't compare the beauty of my returning memories to the moments I'm living out right now. They're each precious, old and new. And I want more.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading! Hoping to get the next chapter up after Christmas, when my work life slows again :D**


	12. Wicked Game

**A/N: Hello! I hope everyone enjoyed the Holidays and that you're all having a great start to 2014. Turns out I was busier than I thought and wasn't able to write as much as I'd hoped following Christmas. I'm happy to be able to get this update up, even if it is nearly 3 AM my time. :D And thank you for your patience, as I know there was a pretty big gap between updates. **

**We're not the only ones starting a new year. We've got Damon's POV on the Holiday in this one. I chose Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" as the title. I love the song, and my selection will make sense by the end of the chapter. **

**Thank you all for reading and your reviews! Looking forward to your thoughts! **

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**Oblivion**

**Chapter 11 - Wicked Game**

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_**Present Day – New Year's Day**_

_**Damon POV**_

The morning sky is white and it's so fucking cold I can't feel my feet. Wool socks do nothing for below zero wind chills but I'm wearing them anyway. They're soft and thick and from Elena, which makes them the best damn pair of socks in the world, in case that wasn't clear. It's New Year's Day, and as my boot crunch a fresh pattern through the snow, I can't think of a more peaceful way to start 2014.

I woke up with a dull headache, so I'm hoping the bitter cold will help kill this minor hangover. I did tear it up a bit, but I didn't go overboard. A few shots and a few bottles of Spotted Cow over the span of six hours had me buzzing pretty hard, but I haven't gotten completely trashed for awhile. I can think of one night in particular while Elena was in a coma, but the aftermath of it kept me from having more than a few beers for a long while. Elena, on the other hand, will probably be paying for the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Unlike me, she doesn't have a memory to tame her.

Don't get me wrong; I don't want her to hurt, but a girl's got to learn her limits somehow. I smile thinking of her warm little body wrapped in the many blankets on our bed. She barely budged when I slid out of bed to use the bathroom, or when I slipped on a pair of jeans and my Timberlands and headed outside. I'm not worried she'll wonder where I am when she does wake up; mornings have gotten pretty routine since last week. I actually have a reason to pull my ass out of bed early on the weekends. Besides, she's warm as a heater when I crawl back in bed and pull her back against me.

"Let's make it a short one today, okay?" I say and wait as if I expect a response. "I can already picture the look on her face when we do get back inside. She'll flip on her iPad and realize we're out here in negative temps and then we'll get _The Look," _I warn him with a smile. I don't even feel ridiculous talking like this. Besides, he's gonna have to know what he's gotten himself into.

Beside my footprints are the tiny, unmistakeable prints of my new buddy, Diesel. It's safe to say Elena is awesome at hitting the mark with sentimental gifts. I've only been friends with our pup since Christmas, but I can already tell he's the best damn dog in the world. He's quickly falling into place as the companion she intended him to be, sleeping at the end of the bed and sporting a ridiculous dog jacket she insisted he wear when we go on our short winter walks.

"Yeah. See you do know the look. It's the one she flashed you as you tried to wiggle your way out of your snow gear," I remind him. "Get used to it, because it's not going away." I smile because every given day is another confirmation that I have my wife back.

No dog of mine is pussy enough to need protection from the wind, but I wasn't about to take the thing off him after watching her struggle it on him for ten minutes. I nixed the boots though, because really. I stop as we approach a tree and smile as I watch my buddy circle it a good ten times before he finds the perfect spot to do his thing. The whole potty-training thing is a work in progress, so he could walk around here for hours and I'd be fine with it, as long as he's not pissing on my favorite chair.

Diesel's a cool guy because he's a lot like me. And I'm not just talking about our dark hair. He looks pretty tough and I've seen him do a stupid thing or two, but he's got a soft spot for love and although he's only been with us a short while, his loyalty is evident. He's not a purebred anything, and he didn't come from a family who wanted puppies. He was picked up by a shelter when he was just a few weeks old, which means our home is the first real one he's ever had. And Elena moved up another few notches on the awesome meter for the fact that she took the shelter approach. I mean all dogs are deserving of a good home, but she could've gone for a pup from a breeder who was in perfect condition. Instead she chose Diesel, a little tough guy with a scar across his black nose, with no knowledge about him aside from the fact that mutts make good family dogs. And I have to believe she picked him because he reminded her of us – rebels out on the road.

He's small, but he won't be for much longer. He's a pretty decent dude on his own, but it's the symbolism behind the gift that touches me the most. Yeah, my name was in big bold lettering on the tag on his collar as he ran up to me on Christmas morning, but she loves him as much as I do, so it's pretty clear he was a gift to both of us. To our new life together.

I crouch down to his level and laugh as his tiny paws go in four different directions and he lands on his belly in the snow. A small shake and I'm covered in a dusting of snow, and I smile and pick him up in my arms. "Happens to the best of us," I tell him as my gloved hands rub the remaining snow from his ears. He looks up at me as if I have the answers to all of life's questions, then warms my nose with a few licks. As I stare at him, I see more than just a new pet. I see a friend. A companion. Someone I can talk to about the tough things without fearing disappointment. I know this little man will be cool with whatever I say to him, and I know he'll bear my troubles right along side me until I'm ready to share them with Elena.

It's not like I think she'll leave me for it, though I'm sure there are many women who would have. It was stupid and something I'll never do again – there's nothing in the world more important than the people I love, namely Elena. And I've been dealing with the fact that I didn't just put her second. I put her third or fourth. I made it seem like she had no say in my life even though we were married, and I gave her plenty of reasons to doubt me. A lesser man might say I'm lucky she doesn't remember a thing, and maybe I'm playing up on it a bit by not sharing the details of my accident, but I'd feel guilty for the rest of my life if I let her carry on oblivious to our problems. Like I said I'm not hero; I put her in distress and was too fucked up to save myself, let alone her. All the credit goes to her, because if I were in her shoes back then, I'd have peeled right out of the parking lot and left my sorry ass behind before I ever had the chance to break her heart.

I let out a breath and watch as it swirls before us. We've been out here for about fifteen minutes and we've rounded the last corner that leads to the house. Soon we'll be back inside our toasty home in front of the fireplace, or if I get my way, crawling back under the covers with Elena.

My mind goes back to last night and I realize we're not alone. The way Harlow was downing them last night, I'll be surprised if she's sober this morning. After it was over, Harlow and Andrew managed to nestle themselves in one of our guestrooms. Not so quietly, I might add. And let me tell you, it's been years since I've partied with my sister. I'm not talking about knocking back a few bottles of beer around Mom's kitchen table, either; I'm talking pub crawling. Andrew's a fucking saint for his self-imposed one beer rule; I wasn't wasted but there's no way I could've gotten behind a wheel. Must've been something to party with the likes of us, but I get why he did it; Harlow's eyes were just as bright with excitement as Elena's and it's been too damn long since those two have let loose.

The best part? It was all Elena's idea.

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**Twelve Hours Earlier...**

"Damn adorable, aren't they?" Andrew smiles and lifts his bottle of Bud to his lips. My eyes shoot to the bar where I see Elena and Harlow knocking back a shot. They're surrounded by a small crowd—all locals watching my girl like a hawk as if she may fall into another coma at any given moment, but every now and then I feel Elena's eyes fall on me.

We're seated at a small table in the corner of _Renner's_, a little bar just a few blocks downtown. It's our second stop of the night and the clock's about to hit 9:30pm. She's got about three drinks in her, but the way she wiggles her sexy hips tells me she's buzzing, and I'm itching to get my hands on her again.

"Whole lot of trouble when they're together, too," I add with a laugh as I tip my own bottle back. Elena's eyes go wide as she brings the double shot glass to her lips and sends the burning liquid down her throat. She cringes for just a moment, then laughs as she sets the empty glass down on the bar next to my sister's and throws her arms triumphantly in the air. "Look at 'em up there, beautiful as hell and stealing the show."

"Always have," he reminds me as I reach into the tin bucket of shelled peanuts at our table and pop one into my mouth. "Always will, I hope. Nice to see Harlow smile like that again, even if hanging out with Elena has revived her interest in cooking," he laughs, then reaches for a peanut. "Small price to pay, you know?" His eyes are stuck on my sister and I can't help but smile.

This moment. This second right here is the very reason I love this guy. He's a hell of a brother-in-law, and not just because he loves local beer and a lot of the same things I do. He's real in the way good men should be and knows when to laugh and when to bite his tongue. He's the kind of guy I'd be friends with even if he wasn't married to my sister, but the way he treats her only gives me more reasons to like him. He looks at her as if she's the only thing that matters, and as her twin, that means a whole hell of a lot to me; she's one of the most important people in my life, and it's reassuring to know she's well cared for and loved in a way she deserves.

As twins we've always been close, but the events of the last few years have really drawn us together and made me appreciate my family. They loved Elena dearly within hours of meeting her that first Christmas, and they've been nothing but supportive us through the twists and turns since. My accident and hers, and someday soon when it all comes flooding back to her—because I know it will—I hope to God she remembers she wasn't alone.

I reach back to smooth the hair at the back of my head and touch my scar. It's a new year, which means I've got another 365 days to show her how much she means to me before we wind up here again. 2013 brought us so many good things; I can't help but feel the highs. But yeah. There were lows, too. I won't pretend I wasn't devastated to find out she didn't know who the hell I was when she woke up, and I can't say I'm not worried she'll never get it all back. Of course I am; who wouldn't be? Who wouldn't want his wife to wake up next to him one day and remember every single moment they've shared? Only an idiot would say it didn't bother him.

But after so many years wishing she'd come home to me so we could finish what we started, it's easy to push those troubles aside and embrace what we've been given. You better believe I'm celebrating the hell out of 2013, because I'll never get a better year than this. The good news is, I've still got another two-and-a-half hours left to revel in it, and my gorgeous wife is headed my way.

There's good music pumping in these walls, and while it's more of a laid back place, it hasn't stopped the ladies from rearranging the tables to construe a dance floor. I like _Renner's_ because it doesn't cater to just one crowd. It's known for hosting some of the best upcoming local bands across all genres, and it's a cool enough environment to just kick back and let loose without spending a ton of cash. Since it's New Year's Eve and the house is packed, they've brought in their most loved band, _Thayer's Love. _It's a folksy-rock kind of band that doesn't lend much to dancing, but some of their slow stuff is pretty good and I'll use any excuse to press up against Elena. Yeah, I'm that shameless.

Either these beers are settling in my blood, or she's taking all damn day to cross the room. I use the opportunity to enjoy the view, as she really outdid herself tonight. I told her not to worry about getting all dolled up; it's cold and windy and she'd look beautiful make-up free and in a potato sack, but all that got me was her trademark eye-roll and a smirk. I'm pretty sure she actually saw it as a challenge to the look the sexiest she ever has, because damn. She wears red lipstick like it was made just for her, and her wavy hair falls loose around her bare shoulders. She insisted on wearing a red wide-necked, off the shoulder sweater and a blank tank underneath, so I'm glad the crowd's making it toasty in here. I'm glued to her legs in those tight black jeans and the pair of knee-high black leather boots I bought her last week as she finally reaches the table.

Her hands fall on my shoulders and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"Having fun, Damon?" She asks, and I nod as I continue to appreciate her. Oh, stop it. I'm not a pig; just a guy with a few beers running in his system and the hottest damn wife in the history of marriages. And yeah, a few more drinks and I'll be letting this whole place know it.

She wobbles a little forward, so I reach out to grab her hips to steady her.

"Woah there," I smile, gripping her more tightly. "You okay?" She's warm, and my thumbs brush against her bare skin. I should be worried she'll freeze on our walk to the next bar down the road, but all I can think about is how good she feels.

"I'm amazing," she tells me, smiling as she steps between my open legs until her warm thighs are cinched between mine. She's close enough to feel the hard-on starting in my jeans, and if things take the corner I believe they will, we'll be seamless on that makeshift dance floor in moments.

Her soft hands run across my shoulders and lift her gently to get her settled on my leg. She's light as a feather, though she eats well, and when she's comfortably perched up on my knee like this, I'm on top of the world. I feel her warm forehead press against my temple as she says,

"Drunk enough to dance with me yet? We brought a pitcher," She says and I reassure her I could be sober as hell in a room with no music and still want to dance with her. She's got an empty hand now, but I'm sure she'll be shooting another few fancy alcoholic concoctions before the clock strikes twelve. She may not recall, but she's got a pretty decent tolerance; it's the only reason I'm not following her around like a watchdog right now. I know her limits and I won't let her pass them. I don't want her waking up on a cold bathroom floor on her first morning in 2014, but I'm happy she's letting her guard down tonight. Every day I see a new, beautiful side of her, and this is one of them. Carefree looks amazing on her, and I hope it's just the beginning of what's to come for us.

I down the last of my beer and scoot the empty bottle beside the other two. I'm not drunk by any means, but I'm relaxed enough to not worry about who's watching. I know a lot of people here...probably all of them. That's the thing about small towns—news travels fast and every one knows _everything_ about their neighbors. It can be annoying as shit at times, but out of all the places I've lived and travelled, I couldn't have picked a better place to settle down. Their nosiness is just a blemish on the beauty of what these people bring to our 've got warm smiles and genuine hearts and I've shared my troubles with more than few of these faces over the years. And as I look around and see the people smiling at Elena, laughing with her and sharing stories, I realize I'm blessed, because it's not just my family celebrating Elena's return; These people are, too. And together we may just pull together and give her a chance at some memories. And if not, at least she'll gain a lot of new friends.

Beside us, Harlow and Andrew are engaged in a tournament of tongues. And I've seen enough. Trust me, I get it. My sister's tolerance of alcohol is quite a bit lower than Elena's, and her inhibitions are lowered enough right now not to care that she's groping her husband in a public bar. And it's whatever, except they're coming home with us tonight and I'm gonna have that shit running through my head all night.

I'm just about to tap my Timberland against her shin lightly when I feel the backs of Elena's feet bump into mine. Alcohol brings out her playful side, and she's swinging her legs back and forth whie she sits on my knee. Andrew was dead on with the 'adorable' comment; I'm half thinking about calling a cab right now and ringing in the New Year between Elena's thighs. Instead, I scoot to the edge of my stool until she hops off my knee, and grab her hand as we head to the center of the bar where a few couples are swaying to the music.

"I really like this one," Elena says as she draws her arms around neck and pulls me closer. _Thayer's_ _Son_s is a band of three brothers from just a few towns east of us. We've heard them play just once before, but they've got lyrics and a sound that sticks easily. Before long, they're playing a cover of Chris Isaak's _Wicked Game, _and I hear Elena's sweet voice softly singing the lyrics against my neck.

And it's just a cover song. Just a local band made up of a few guys slightly younger than us. And this is just a moment, like every other we've had—only it feels like a whole lot more. It feels like they're singing _Wicked Game_ right to us. And in my arms, it feels like _she's_ singing it only for me.

We're moving for an eternity and I don't want to let go for even one second. We must've danced hundreds of times in all the places we've been, but it's never felt more right, and I've never been more sure that I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing in life.

I used to fear this—settling down. And not for the reasons a lot of men my age or younger typically do. In college, the first time around, I couldn't really concentrate on my degree. It never felt like I was doing it for myself. I loved and respected my father more than any other man on the planet because he never forced me to do anything I didn't want to do. He didn't push me into the business field. I went willingly, because while I had dreams of doing so many other things, the dream of becoming a good man and a good father like him far outweighed anything else. But as the years ticked on, I found myself slipping up. Convincing myself I was doing what made me happy. And when he died, it all just went to hell. Those dreams—the ones I left school to live out...the one I risked my life and my marriage to pursue...it turns out they were temporary. I would've never thought I'd choose something over my wife. And I'll never do it again.

This—this unmistakeable feeling in my gut—is contentment. This is the feeling I've read about in magazines articles and blogs from guys happily married and well-adjusted. I don't feel like life cheated me, or us or even that I have the right to question the way we've gotten here. I just know I'm here. _We're_ here together, and if I only ever spend every New Year's Eve for the rest of my life in the arms of this woman...dancing the small town bands in this amazing bar, I'll be damn lucky.

She's warm against me, and her hips meet mine in exactly the right rhythm to get me started. I've got the self-control of a saint most of the time-only stick my tongue down her throat in small crowds or in the comfort of our own home—but there are some times I just can't help it. More than ever, I'm happy we've said our present _I love you's_. It makes thinking about taking her home and fucking her a lot easier on my conscious; she's the type of drunk to want in my pants, and I'm not sure I could've kept on doing her without knowing how she really felt. Not because I'm afraid of getting hurt; it just wouldn't feel right after awhile, knowing I'm so wrapped up in her and wondering if she's even half as happy as I am. Now I know—we're golden.

The song ends and our feet stop moving, but I feel her body relax against mine. I kiss the top of her head, and when she looks up at me with dark, beautiful eyes, I'm not sure we'll make it to midnight. I'm just about to bust out an innuendo when her smirk turns into a yawn.

"It's not even 10 o'clock!" I tease. "Though you always were a bit of a snoozer after a few. Trying to lie down in the street and all that,"

She cringes, then laughs, as if she's waiting for me to tell her I'm kidding. I'm not, and when she realizes it, she throws her head back in wild laughter.

"I was a riot!" Her smile is wide and genuine, and I'm relieved. "How the hell did you put up with me all the time?"

I certainly didn't see that one coming. At any given moment, a story could turn into a flashback, which could turn sour and put a severe damper on the night ahead. One of these times she's not going to laugh.

"Put up with you?" I smile. "I lied down in the street right next to you. Side streets only, of course. And only for a few seconds because the ground is really uncomfortable. Never could stand to watch you try to fall asleep without me."

Her eyes flicker with something and the smile slides off my face. I've seen this look before. She knows something, or remembers. There's something rocking around behind those beautiful eyes, but she closes them before I can say for certain it's bad. When she opens them again, she's smiling as if nothing ever happened. Mmmhmm. I'll be thinking on that one tonight, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what the hell would've triggered a memory.

Concern is boiling to the surface, threatening to interrupt this amazing night, but the moment is extinguished when I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. Elena's eyes soften as she smiles at the man behind us, and I let the moment go.

"Next round's on me, kids." I'm soothed by the strong, familiar voice. It's Ryan Renner, the owner of this bar and a long time friend of my Dad's. They met when my Dad bought our house as a place to stay when he had to be away for long periods of time, I've loved the guys since I was little, and he's been a good friend since my Dad passed. He's always reminded me a bit of my Pops. You two are all this town's talking about, and I'm glad to see the rumors are all true," he continues.

Elena's cheeks tint pink and I pull her closer against my side. This is one rumor I'm happy to confirm. Renner, being the kind man he is, can see she's antsy under all the sudden attention, and suggests she go tell the bartender what we'd like next. I watch her sway up to the bar and just barely hear Rennder say,

"She's a good girl, Damon. Your Dad would've loved her, and the smile she puts on your face everytime you're together."

"Thanks. I appreciate that. Really," I let him know. I mean it more than he probably knows, because although he's not my father, I imagine he's dead on with his comment about Elena. My Dad told me to do what made me happy and not stop searching until I found what I wanted. I like to think he'd tell me I stopped at the right place, in a warm home with a loving wife. And I know he'd forgive me for what it took to get there.

He reaches out to shake my hand and I squeeze it back, thankful for a friend like him. For my town and for places like this—where it's easy to rebuild a life and make Elena feel at home. Not everyone is so lucky, I remember. And I make a New Year's Resolution to count my blessings everyday.

Because no one can seem to go more than a few minutes without interrupting tonight, Harlow's soon in front of us with two drinks in her hand. Thankfully, one of them is water and it's sliding into the hand of my self-sacrificing designated driver of a brother-in-law. Told you this guy was cool. We may be walking from one bar to the next, but it's more than a few blocks to get back home. They'll be crashing at our house tonight, so I'm not worried about how late we're out.

"Last drink here an we're on to the next," Harlow says above the music. I'm not sure when my sister became such the pro at pub-crawling, but she's clearly the leader tonight. Andrew shoots me an _oh, shit_ look, and I've got to feel bad for the guy. I love my sister to death but she's a loud drunk and she's tutoring my Elena in the ways of bar-hopping. I remind myself we're young and that one day we'll look back at this and wish we could do it all over again. Then I knock back the shot on the tray beside me and pull Elena against me as the band plays on.

* * *

**New Year's Day – 9 am**

"Now remember, Disesel. Momma _might_ be crabby this morning," I tell him as we approach the porch. Our morning walk is through and I fully expect to walk into a silent, unchanged house. We were only gone for twenty minutes—just enough time to wake the fuck up in the cold and let the little guy burn some energy. He's a ball of power most mornings, so I'm not surprised when he takes off like a lunatic toward our bedroom. Because he's a puppy, his patience is non-existent. Elena loves the little bugger, but if I've got a dull headache this morning, I'm sure she's got a construction team hammering away in her head. I'm fast, but he's faster.

And it's too late. Before I reach him, he's barreling into our big bed, digging his cold, wet nose right under her chin. I close my eyes and hope she's only a _little_ pissed to be woken up by frozen dog paws, but I let out a breath of relief when I hear soft giggles from beneath his bulky body. It wasn't enough to just snuggle under the covers with her. Nope. He's got to jump all over her, step in places _no_ woman wants stepped on. He's got to lick her face until she's covered in slobber.

I told you this guy was a lot like me.

"Morning, guys," she says easily, and I balk, because where the hell's hangover-Elena?

Her big brown eyes flutter open beneath her dark lashes, and I see the thousands of reasons I love her. She's smiling and laughing and pulling our puppy under the covers beside her to warm him up. The house is otherwise quiet, but I plan to put on a pot of coffee in a few so Harlow and Andrew have some ready when they do wake up. If someone would've told me a few years ago that this is how I'd be welcoming 2014, I'd never have believed them. Sometimes turn out even better than you hope.

"How're you feeling?" I ask, pulling off my boots and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Surprisingly well," she shrugs. "Your three Advil and a bottle of water before bed trick really did work. Go figure," she sticks out her tongue. "But then again, you've been at this longer than I have."

I smile, then I'm hit with that moment of discontent from last night. The look in her eyes in the middle of the bar. I can't help but worry it'll come back today. Diesel's got amazing timing. Just as I'm starting to panic, he lets out a sign and plops his head down on the pillow beside Elena's. Her hair is spread across the pillow in beautiful waves, and she doesn't even cringe when he blows his doggy breath her way.

"Could use some coffee, though," she says. "New year, same poison. When do you suppose Harlow and Andrew will wake up?"

"I'm calling noon," I say seriously. "My sister's a zombie. You have no idea."

She laughs and unfortunately reminds me of how late they were up last night once we got home. Trust me, I'll be hearing it in my head for the next few days.

"Oh, come on, Damon. You're sister is awesome. Andrew, too. Without them to watch him, I could've never pulled off the whole puppy-for-Christmas bit," she reminds me. "They make good babysitters."

I smile, because I'm not sure what to say to that. My hands sneak under the covers to warm up, and she pulls them into hers. I'm not sure how, but she's fresh faced and even sexier than last night. Then I tell myself that's what a good fuck looks like, and I pat myself on the back for ringing in the New Year in the best way I know how.

"I heard it's gonna be twenty below today. Your hands are like ice, so I believe it." She smiles. "Maybe we'll just stay in all day and watch movies. Sound good, Diesel?"

I love that she talks to him in the way I do—like he's family. Before long, she's tugging my shirt toward her and I fall gently on top of her. I press slow, long kisses to her lips before settling in beside her them. And like any good pet, our new buddy worms his way between us and licks Elena's cheeks. She giggles, and pets him and for the oddest reason, I think of what she might look like tickling a baby.

His wagging tail thumps right on my stomach and I laugh, because something as simple as this moment makes me incredibly happy.

"Dude. You're killing me right now," I laugh and pick him up above us to move him on the other side of her. "Go steal someone else's girl. This one's all mine."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


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